


The Seven Labors of Mokuba Kaiba

by Azurite



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga), Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Background Relationships, Gen, Mild Language, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azurite/pseuds/Azurite
Summary: Mokuba Kaiba wants to get the perfect present for his brother Seto's upcoming 30th birthday in less than a month. The only problem is, to get what he wants, he'll need to wheel and deal his way across two continents, negotiate with old friends, and face his fears of some old foes. Can he do it, or will he be stuck playing second fiddle to Seto Kaiba for the rest of his life?
Relationships: Honda Hiroto | Tristan Taylor/Kawai Shizuka | Serenity Wheeler, Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kujaku Mai | Mai Valentine, Kaiba Mokuba/Mazaki Anzu | Tea Gardner, Mazaki Anzu | Tea Gardner/Mutou Yuugi, Mazaki Anzu | Tea Gardner/Yami Yuugi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17
Collections: Yu-Gi-Oh! It's Time to G-G-G-Gift! [Mini-Exchange]





	1. Slide Into My DMs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brightbriar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightbriar/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Archive of Our Own (AO3) Yu-Gi-Oh! Mini-Exchange 2020 - I apologize in advance, but I’m incapable of doing anything “mini.” I’m pretty sure my author’s note alone is more than the minimum 250 words.
> 
> A Gift for brightbriar - This doubles as my NaNoWriMo submission, so uh… I wrote you a novel. Sorry?
> 
> Warnings: brief Ardentshipping (Honda x Shizuka), one-sided Boxshipping (Mokuba x Anzu), one-sided Revolutionshipping (Atem x Anzu) and Peachshipping (Yuugi x Anzu), light Polarshipping (Jounouchi x Mai), mild swearing
> 
> Disclaimer:I know some fans don’t know or don’t care about disclaimers, but it’s kind of ingrained in me. I guess that shows my age, doesn’t it? Well, I don’t own Yu-Gi-Oh! This is for fun and entertainment, not profit, and all the characters, settings, and conceits used therein are used in parody. And frankly if I did own Yu-Gi-Oh!, I would have a damn female heroine by now and her hair wouldn’t look like some plastic Lego attachment.
> 
> Author’s Notes: I don’t remember the last time I participated in a fic exchange, but two things drew me to the mini-exchange: the fact that it’s on AO3, which needs more Yu-Gi-Oh! Fic, and the mystery of not knowing what prompts/request I would get. I didn’t immediately get struck with inspiration by any one of the prompts, and I actually spent far too long trying to pigeonhole any one of the prompts into a heist-like format. But then I saw a Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode, and I remembered this other fic idea I got from kaibacorpintern on Tumblr, and well… here we are (don’t worry, that’s not supposed to make any sense). Technically speaking, this is a prequel or a prologue of sorts for my forthcoming fic Love and the Art of Schmoozing, but of course, this can stand on its own.
> 
> The prompts are (in summary): characters other than Seto and Mokuba in suits, Malik and the Ishtars living their best lives, Anzu punching someone, and a Prideshipping “fake dating” AU. Technically speaking, this fic hits ALL FOUR prompts, but as I’m an established Azureshipper, there’s more of a hat tip to the “Prideshipping fake dating AU” prompt than anything else. You’ll see. It’s a bit of a slow build-up, but I promise I get all of them!

_“You want me to start from the beginning? Well, uh… I guess I should have known something was wrong as soon as someone named ‘FB100875’ slid into my DMs. I mean, it totally sounded like spam, but the link they attached was pretty interesting…”_

**September 25**

**—Kaiba Corporation Headquarters, Domino—**

The trouble with Kaiba Corporation’s Japanese headquarters including a 75-storey tower meant that Mokuba Kaiba routinely had to wait several minutes for the elevator that would take him up to his—well, really Seto’s, since Mokuba never could tolerate sitting behind a desk for very long—office. Even the express elevator took its sweet time, since it went up to the top floor every morning when Seto arrived and stayed there until he left in the evening. And since it was already 8:27 a.m., that meant the elevator had been up for a while now.

The light above the elevator blinked: 56, 55, 54…

A pretty blue-haired girl—one of the Solid Vision techs, Mokuba remembered— kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, but when Mokuba made eye contact and smiled, she turned the color of a ripe tomato and dashed into the arriving staff elevator before the others inside even had a chance to disembark.

_Ah, well. Big Brother would tell me I’m not supposed to flirt with the staff, anyway._

It was why twenty-four-year-old Mokuba Kaiba didn’t try squeezing his way onto the employee elevator, even though it had arrived before the express elevator even made it past the thirtieth floor. He just wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, and he was sure he would get one if he arrived in the office via the “wrong door.”

37...36...35…

He wanted to resist opening Chirper on his phone, but Mokuba just couldn’t stop himself. It was the perfect solution to these precise moments, when all he needed was some kind of entertainment, a bit of gossip, maybe even some boring headlines....

Of all the social media networks Mokuba maintained himself—and there were precious few, since college and Seto insisted he turn any accounts over to the company’s PR team—Chirper was one of the last two. It was a toxic cesspool of misinformation and spam, Mokuba knew, but he just couldn’t help it. There were at least a **few** diamonds in the rough.

Just then, Mokuba got a direct message, the notification sound arriving in the form of a cute little “chirp” that gave the app its name. It came from the user ‘FB100875,’ and said only: _Thought you would find this interesting._

Mokuba wasn’t familiar with anyone with the username ‘FB100875,’ but whoever they were, they were following him, even though Mokuba’s updates were sporadic, at best. The icon looked like the letters FB, drawn like they were from the title of some comic book or TV show title.

_FB… FB.... Frank ‘n’ Beans? Finite Barium? Foot Ball?_

Nothing came to mind.

Normally Mokuba would have just marked the message as spam and then moved on with his life, but the link attached to the message had a preview that caught his eye.

_San Francisco, California, September 20, 20XX -- Industrial Illusions and Tenma Arts Co. will co-host a historic Art Auction, "MILLENNIUM," from October 8 to November 20, 20XX._

Mokuba didn’t know what to react to first: Industrial Illusions showing up in the news alongside what had to be some new private company of Pegasus’— _come on, with a name like ‘Tenma’?!_ —or the tiny little preview image of what appeared to be the Blue-Eyes White Dragon in a gilt frame, surrounded by similar _Duel Monsters_ paintings.

The elevator was still seventeen floors away. Mokuba clicked on the link. 

_MILLENNIUM is an online silent auction designed for easy participation. Featuring beautiful works spanning the history of creator Pegasus J. Crawford’s Duel Monsters trading card game and pieces from his private collection, there are pieces for everyone to enjoy, from casual players and fans to champion duelists and experienced art collectors._

_True to its name, MILLENNIUM offers a record-breaking total of 1,000 lots, with the lowest bid beginning at just $300 USD. This auction’s highlights include limited print editions of previously championship-only card art variations such as the Black Magician and his apprentice, Black Magician Girl, as well as the original oil painting of the famous Blue-Eyes White Dragon…_

There was more to the press release, but the words blurred in Mokuba’s eyes. He kept reading the same few words over and over: _the original oil painting of the famous Blue-Eyes White Dragon…_

A loud “ding!” shook him out of his reverie in time to step into the private elevator that would take him up to Seto’s 360º office on the top floor of Kaiba Corporation’s Domino HQ. His mind raced faster than the elevator as he scrolled through the remainder of the article. A thousand different pieces, ranging from classic _Duel Monsters_ art to some of Pegasus’ more modern stuff, including an enormous panoramic mural and a series of avant garde-looking fashion portraits; a sealed bidding system to ensure bidder confidence…

_Blah, blah, blah, how much is he putting up the Blue-Eyes for?_

Several clicks later, Mokuba’s stomach nearly plummeted back to the ground floor.

_No way… there’s no way…_

Seto’s birthday was coming up, but for the price Pegasus was asking, there was no way Mokuba could get it for him on the sly. The valuation was over $10 million USD! It wasn’t that he didn’t have the money; he **did** , but if Mokuba was hoping to avoid lectures from Seto about all things Kaiba Corporation, spending a cool $10 million on a painting—even one bought as a birthday present—wouldn’t spare him the earful he’d be on the receiving end of for the next millennium.

But there was something off about all this, Mokuba thought as the elevator soared ever upward. Why co-host an art auction after all this time? Why put the Blue-Eyes original painting up for bidding, if he didn’t expect Seto himself to buy it? And what was with the timing? The auction was only weeks away at this point, which meant he didn’t have much time—

“Get your nose out of your phone, Mokuba,” Seto’s voice interrupted him. Mokuba blinked. He didn’t even realize the elevator had stopped and he’d arrived, the doors opening to reveal his haggard, nearly 30 (going on 50, judging by how haggard he looked) year-old brother, staring at him over his hands. Mokuba quickly shoved his phone into his pocket and made his way over to his brother’s desk, where he perched himself on the corner.

“Geez, and you lecture me about wearing a suit to work everyday,” Mokuba said, eyeing his brother. Seto’s custom suit jacket was thrown haphazardly over a nearby sofa, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. His tie was nowhere to be found. 

Mokuba, on the other hand, arrived in a pale yellow dress shirt with a black-and-white diagonal striped tie, his black slacks secured to his slim hips with a slender black leather belt. He rarely bothered wearing his jacket, and often carried it over his shoulder just in case Seto insisted he put it on for some meeting with a corporate bigwig.

Seto’s only reply was a grunt, delivered halfway into his own hands as they continued to prop up his chin. He didn’t seem to be holding his head up so he could better examine anything on his monitor; if anything, he seemed to be doing his best to ignore whatever was on screen, judging by how long he kept his eyes—his puffy, shadowed eyes—closed.

“You look like shit, bro,” Mokuba told him frankly. “Did you even go home last night?”

“Language, Mokuba,” Seto chided him, but the usual fire wasn’t there.

“I’m not 10 years old anymore, you know,” Mokuba said. He pursed his lips and glanced sidelong at Seto’s dour expression. “But you can lecture me all you want about business and whatever. I’m here for that.” 

Truthfully, as much as he hoped to avoid Seto droning on about business stratagems and reports, it seemed like those moments were the only time together they got. And if it made his brother happy somehow, Mokuba could handle it. After all, he’d secretly juggled getting his Master’s of Business Administration from New York University two years ago, while simultaneously “training” for the Kaiba Corporation Vice President position (even though he’d had the position –in name at least– since he was 10 years old) in San Francisco. He was an expert at “handling it,” no matter what “it” was.

Mokuba glanced up at the digital clock on the “media wall,” which featured no less than three widescreen OLED televisions constantly monitoring Kaiba Corporation’s social media accounts, mentions in the media, stock valuation, and the status of various ongoing projects. It was 8:35 a.m. By Seto’s standards, he was abysmally late.

“I’m sorry if I’m late,” Mokuba went on, jumping off the edge of the desk. “I needed a coffee, and I didn’t feel like being a jerk boss and cutting everyone in line at the stand downstairs.” 

He didn’t mention that he’d spent a few minutes insisting the barista call him “Mokuba” and not write his name as “Kaiba-sama” on his cup, and that he’d polished off his entire drink while walking her to the employee break room so he could personally give Kaiba Corporation’s newest employee (that line was probably bullshit, but Mokuba didn’t care) the “need-to-know” for getting by at headquarters. It was basically just a few tips about getting around quickly, a motivational line or two, and an awkwardly long handshake. 

“It’s fine,” Seto grumbled. 

Mokuba frowned. Seto hadn’t sounded sarcastic, but Mokuba doubted he’d been totally sincere with his “it’s fine,” either.

“Bro, what’s up? Will you just talk to me already?” Mokuba knew they’d been drifting further apart over the years—it was just an inevitable part of growing up—but that didn’t mean either of them had to let that gap turn into a chasm. 

They were supposed to be working **together** , after all, since Seto rarely gave him the leeway to do anything on his own. The last time he had, Mokuba had just turned 18 and was on his way to Stanford University in the United States to get a Computer Science degree. Seto had handed him access to his trust fund, containing a whopping one billion yen, telling him that it was all he was going to get until he graduated, and he better make good use of it.

Mokuba barely touched the fund at all during his accelerated college program; he’d opted to stay in the dorms and eventually rent an apartment with a few other guys to get the “full college experience.” He stayed Stateside throughout his “VP training,” getting his MBA on the sly by flying out to New York twice a week. It was there that he’d made full use of that trust fund money...and astonished Seto on Christmas almost three years ago, by handing _him_ a check for a billion yen, claiming to have “not needed it,” and that Seto should re-invest it back into the company. 

It wasn’t that Mokuba expected Seto would hand over the reins of Kaiba Corporation because of that stunt. Frankly, Mokuba didn’t want them! But...it would have been nice if Seto trusted him just a bit more with at least SOME project that didn’t need the CEO’s signature on it. Mokuba would have happily told Seto all the details of how he’d actually invested nearly every yen in the account only to recoup it in full (and then some) over a period of five and a half months, but Seto never asked. He’d said something along the lines of “you can do what you like,” and that was that.

“It’s the upcoming exhibition,” Seto groaned into his folded arms.

“You mean your gigantic birthday party?” Mokuba teased. “What’s going on with it? I thought everything was basically ironed out at this point.” 

The upcoming event—held on October 25th, but was very much “not a birthday party,” according to Seto—involved basically every part of Kaiba Corporation. The company was launching a new Duel Disk, they were announcing the groundbreaking for a new Kaiba Land in Europe, this year was Duel Academia’s 10th anniversary, **and** they were due to reveal some of their plans for the upcoming 15th anniversary of Kaiba Land U.S.A.

Technically speaking, it was a worldwide event, since it was being simulcast for Kaiba Land U.S.A. and the various Duel Academias. But the local events were scheduled throughout Domino, with the exhibition match duels happening at Kaiba Land and the formal celebration commencing at the newest Kaiba Hotel downtown. It reminded Mokuba of Battle City, after a fashion, with the way Kaiba Corporation was “taking over the city.” 

“It’s a month away and it seems like everything that could go wrong is going wrong. Every time I put out one fire, another one starts somewhere else. I can’t be in two places at once.”

“Who says **you** have to be the chief firefighter, bro?” Mokuba asked. “Give me something to do. Come on, you know I’m good for it.”

Seto raised his head, looking as exhausted as Mokuba had ever seen him. Forget having gone home last night; had he even **slept**? Despite the shadows encircling his eyes, Seto’s gaze remained as steady as ever.

“Fine,” he said after a breath. He nodded. “I need you to get in touch with our Industrial Illusions liaison, to make sure the new card data is finalized. We can’t have duelists trying the new Special Summoning method only for a glitch to show up on the field.”

Mokuba waited, but Seto didn’t add anything else. 

“That’s it? Come on, bro, it’s _me_ ! You know, your brother who graduated from Stanford a whole year early? Who got an MBA from NYU on the sly _and_ returned the billion yen you gave me with interest?” 

“You got that money on your 18th birthday and pulled that check stunt three years later,” Seto reminded Mokuba. “Nonetheless, to not spend **any** money over the course of your international college education is suspicious, to say the least. One of these days, we’re going to have an in-depth conversation about how you did that.”

“Name the time and place, bro, I’m an open book! But in the meantime, can you please give me something a bit more challenging than making a phone call across time zones?”

He’d still call Industrial Illusions, of course. If he could somehow charm his way up the phone tree and get in touch with Pegasus to ask about the painting, so much the better. But somehow Mokuba knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Seto raised an eyebrow. “You’re **asking** for work?”

Mokuba let out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s—” he looked at the clock again: 8:42 a.m. “It’s still the beginning of the day, I’m supposed to be your Vice President, and the extent of the work you want me to do is to wait twelve hours to make a phone call that’ll take me, at most, an hour, including hold time, transfers, and confirmation of the data?”

“Then you can confirm the attendance of all of the invited members of the Duelist Pro League. Get in touch with von Schroeder while you’re at it, since you’re so eager.”

“Make a phone call or three, check. And?”

“You’re going to regret this, Mokuba,” Seto said as he ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. “Here.”

He flicked his fingers over his virtual keyboard; seconds later, Mokuba’s phone made a soft “ping!”

Mokuba scrolled through the list and nodded at each item. “Okay, okay, so all of these were on your personal to-do list? And all these deadlines for within the next month are accurate?”

“Yes, Mokuba. If you can handle even five of those…” The relief it would no doubt bring Seto went unspoken. 

“No problem. But I have a condition,” Mokuba added, the gears in his head turning. He could make this work to his advantage, but he’d have to get Seto to agree.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You have to take the next week off work. Completely. No phones, no computers, no nothing. Go up to the mountains. Soak in a hot spring or something. Or at the very least get some fresh air and sleep for a few days straight.”

“That’s ridiculous Mokuba—”

“That’s my offer, take it or leave it. I can always go back down to Solid Vision and have a nice long chat with that girl… Miri or Mirai, I think. She’s pretty cute. Or that barista from earlier—she really knows how to make a great latte, Seto, you should try it sometime—”

“All right, all right! I’ll take a damned vacation. One. Week. That’s it. And no flirting with the staff while I’m away or EVER.”

“You make it sound like I’m asking you to get an appendectomy, bro,” Mokuba said, staring his brother down until Seto got up and started finding the missing pieces of his suit scattered hither and thither.

“...I don’t remember the last time I took a vacation,” Seto said quietly. “I could never afford it.”

“Bullshit,” Mokuba snapped, wheeling on his brother. “We’ve been profitable for almost fifteen years.” He started ticking items off on his fingers, “Oh, and you bought an entire city for a day. You had a blimp with a duel arena on **top**. You had a private jet specially constructed in the shape of a Blue-Eyes White Dragon—”

“That was your idea, if you recall,” Seto interjected.

Mokuba’s cheeks reddened slightly. “So what? Doesn’t change the fact that us ‘affording’ anything has never been an issue.” He bit his lip. He wanted to say something more, to point out that his brother seemed to work all the time instead of ever taking a second to sort through his feelings. But what could Mokuba do, tell Seto to check into a mountain rehab with an onsite therapist?

“It was just an expression, Mokuba.” 

Mokuba grumbled. “You still need a vacation.”

“And I’ll take one.” 

“Starting right now?” Mokuba countered.

Seto stared out the tinted glass separating his office from the reception area where Isono’s desk sat. He pushed a button on his phone and waited for his executive assistant’s crisp reply.

“Yes, Seto-sama?”

“Isono, forward any meetings or deadlines I have scheduled this week to Mokuba. Anything that he can’t handle, cancel it.” Seto paused. “I’m going on vacation.”

“Sir?” Through the tinted glass, Mokuba saw Isono jolt at Seto’s unexpected pronouncement. No doubt he’d want an explanation as soon as Seto was gone. Mokuba would have winked at the man, but there was no way Seto could see him through the glass without his nose having been pressed against it.

_If I can get Seto out of here in the next few minutes, maybe I can get Isono to help me get in touch with Pegasus...._

But no, Isono was a company man through and through. There was no way Mokuba could ask him to keep a secret like this from Seto. It wasn’t that Isono gossiped or anything; he’d just served as Seto’s executive assistant for far longer than he had Mokuba, and he was used to following Seto’s protocols for everything, and that included CC’ing emails, logging access to certain databases and devices….

_I won’t be able to ask_ anybody _at Kaiba Corp for help, then!_ Mokuba realized. Even if he demanded Seto “take it easy,” his brother was such a workaholic that Mokuba would bet his Vice President title that Seto would check his email at least once over the next week.

_More like once an hour,_ Mokuba thought with a grimace. But when Seto turned to put the phone down and look at his brother, Mokuba quickly schooled his face into a mask of neutrality. 

“That will be all, Isono.” And then Seto hung up, like he always did.

Seto finally put his wrinkled suit jacket on and took a begrudging step toward the private elevator. “You’re sure about this?”

“Bro, I’ve been your VP since I was a kid. I’ve been there for almost all of the big deals, all of the huge events. I can handle this.” Mokuba believed every word he was telling Seto. He didn’t have any intention of **being** Seto while acting as interim CEO or acting CEO or whatever his title technically was now, but he could accomplish the same goals, no problem.

_And I can handle getting that Blue-Eyes painting, too!_

“...All right. Then I won’t wish you ‘good luck’,” Seto responded. 

“I don’t need luck, I have skill!” Mokuba laughed, quoting his brother from ages ago. Seto only rolled his eyes and disappeared into the elevator.

_“Famous last words and all, I guess. I mean, I didn’t expect it would be_ easy _to convince Pegasus not to auction off the painting, but I didn’t expect_ this... _.”_


	2. A Simple Favor

_“You have yet to tell me just why_ I’m _involved in this.”_

_“I didn’t? Well, I’ll get to that, but I need to tell you what happened with Pegasus…”_

One of the big differences between Seto and Mokuba Kaiba was Mokuba’s uncanny ability to delegate. Where Seto operated under the principle of “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” Mokuba made it a point to get to know people and their strengths, and he did his best to delegate tasks accordingly. Most of the time, though, Mokuba’s leadership over a given project was in name only; department directors hired senior managers, and senior managers hired regular managers, and on and on down the chain. Mokuba was often the odd-ball out in meetings, but that didn’t stop him from attending as many as he could once he was back in Japan. 

This marked difference made what he was about to do that much harder. 

As soon as Mokuba confirmed Seto had left the premises, he pushed a button on his desk phone. “Hey, Isono, can I get your help with something?” 

“Of course, Mokuba-sama,” Isono replied, and he immediately rose from his seat to enter the office. “What can I help you with, sir?” 

At various points over the last six years, Mokuba made a concerted effort to get Isono to drop the “-sama” honorific. The man had known Mokuba since the time he needed a night light, and it seemed silly to keep using honorifics, but Isono was something of a stickler for that particular tradition. So Mokuba kept it casual, and Isono kept it formal, but neither of them minded. 

“I need to get in touch with our liaison to Industrial Illusions to confirm some data for the exhibition. And if that person can also get me in touch with Pegasus’ executive assistant, that would be great.” 

“Crocketts-san?” Isono asked with raised eyebrows. 

“Really, Crocketts is still with Pegasus?” Mokuba asked. “I gotta say, I’m surprised he hasn’t retired by now.” 

“...Actually sir, he and I are the same age.” 

“What, forty?” Mokuba was awful at estimating people’s ages. This had led to a number of awkward flirtations, both during college and in the years after, while he was still getting his MBA. People always thought he was younger than he appeared, while Mokuba seemed to always guess too low when it came to people’s ages. 

“You flatter me, sir.” 

“...Should I ask? I’m not going to ask. As far as I’m concerned, you’re immortal.” 

Isono let out a chuckle, but nodded. “I can get you in touch with Crocketts-san, sir. What should I say is the nature of the inquiry, if it’s unrelated to the new card data?” 

“Oh, it’s about the card data,” Mokuba assured Isono. He hated lying to the man, but it was necessary for what he wanted to achieve. Hopefully Isono would press him and ask **what** about the card data would necessitate speaking to Pegasus’ executive assistant, if not Pegasus himself. 

_He has to be used to Big Brother wanting to confirm every last detail himself, right?_

“Of course, sir. I’ll forward you their contact information momentarily. Will that be all, sir?” 

_Whew. Feels like I dodged a bullet there._

“Yeah, Isono, that’s it for now. I got this, don’t worry!” 

Isono only gave him a small smile and left the office to return to his own desk in the reception area. Only after Isono’s back was turned did Mokuba dare to let out a deep breath and wipe the thinnest sheen of sweat from his brow. 

_One down..._

By 6:42 p.m. that evening, Mokuba decided that if he heard another crackling pop song as hold music, he’d throw his phone out the 72-storey window. 

At least he’d been able to confirm the new card data had been successfully transferred to the Solid Vision department in time for beta testing ahead of the exhibition next month. He’d also gotten in touch with the managers for at least six of the Pro Duelists to confirm their attendance at next month’s exhibition, but he still had several pages of additional names to confirm, especially since qualifying tournaments were ongoing. 

_This… really doesn’t seem like CEO work. Why does Seto personally handle stuff like this?_

It was one thing to personally call von Schroeder; he was—well, Seto certainly wouldn’t call him his “equal”—Seto’s “peer” in the gaming entertainment world. Joint contracts with Industrial Illusions over the years caused them to work together more often than butt heads, and that meant inviting Siegfried and Leonhart to all their major events, even if they ultimately declined. 

In any case, Japan was a full eight hours ahead of Germany, so unless he called them now… 

_Ugh, I’m exhausted. This can at least wait a day, right?_

Mokuba unlocked his phone and found himself staring at the press release for the art auction again. Maybe some things could wait… but not this. 

The problem was, it was almost 3 a.m. in California, now. He’d have no chance whatsoever of getting in touch with Crocketts, let alone Pegasus. Mokuba still remembered how leisurely Pegasus acted the last time he’d been on the man’s private island all those years ago… like breakfast started at whenever, lunch was if he felt like it, and wine and cheese counted as a meal regardless of an “honored guest” was alcohol-averse or lactose intolerant. 

_But if I took the jet now…_

It was a crazy idea. But if he got to the airport within the next hour, and the weather didn’t take a turn for the worse, he could be in California by lunch time. He could sleep on the plane, no problem, and maybe even get some work done on the flight back… hopefully with the painting in hand. 

Mokuba switched from his browser to his phone app and quickly found the number he needed. “Hey, it’s me. Do you think you can prep the jet for an international flight in the next hour?” 

* * *

**September 25**

**—Over the International Date Line—**

Five hours into the flight, Mokuba woke from a short, junk food-induced nap with the wherewithal to call Crocketts. He made a point of using his Internet-based phone app so it wouldn’t be logged in his Kaiba Corporation-issued mobile phone’s logs, which hopefully meant it wouldn’t raise any flags that Seto could see. 

“Industrial Illusions, Mr. Crawford’s office. Crocketts speaking, how may I help you?” 

_Good thing I spent several years Stateside perfecting my English._

Mokuba had never undergone the same kind of intensive tutoring that Seto had, but he still had the best private education money could buy. But while Seto had learned English from almost the day Gozaburo adopted them, it’d hadn’t been part of Mokuba’s compulsory education until junior high, and the only reason why he did better than his classmates was because he had an encyclopedic knowledge of _Duel Monsters_ cards before they were formally translated into the Japanese. Then came high school, and eventually, Mokuba’s decision to try for a degree in California. There was nothing quite like absolute immersion to force you to learn a language. 

_Among other things,_ Mokuba remembered with a small smile. 

“Crocketts, it’s Mokuba Kaiba. I happen to be on my way to California and need a meeting with Pegasus. When’s his next opening?” 

_Make it seem like it’s part of other business_ , Mokuba decided. _It’s a ‘need,’ not a want, and you don’t ask for availability, you ask for the next opening._ These and other strategies were not ones Mokuba picked up from his brother, but from his years training as the VP at Kaiba Corporation’s American headquarters, and supplemented by advice from the many mentors Mokuba met during his MBA program, several having a decade or more experience on him. Those techniques didn’t always work with Japanese businesses, especially the older ones with a foundation of tradition, but they tended to work with Western companies across the board. 

“Ah… Mr. Kaiba—” Crocketts began, stuttering over the formal address —and likely the unexpected call from a Kaiba, in English no less. “What, may I ask, is the meeting regarding? I believe we have already confirmed with our Kaiba Corporation liaison the new card data for the upcoming exhibition….” 

“You don’t have to call me ‘Mr. Kaiba,’ Crocketts,” Mokuba said, hoping the smile on his face came through his voice. “That’s my brother. And the meeting’s not regarding the card data,” Mokuba assured him. “It’s actually something related to Tenma Arts.” 

_Don’t give out more information than you absolutely need to,_ Mokuba reminded himself. If Crocketts was half as savvy as Isono, then there was no way he could bluntly tell the man that he wanted to meet about the Blue-Eyes painting. 

“Please hold one moment, Mr. Kaiba,” Crocketts said, ignoring Mokuba's request for informality. 

Mokuba sighed. _I guess Crocketts and Isono are alike in more ways than one._

There was a brief silence before Crocketts came back on the line. “Mr. Crawford says he looks forward to your brother’s participation in the auction, but a meeting isn’t necessary. He says he has no doubt that your brother will come out as the top bidder for the Blue-Eyes piece.” 

_Pegasus has ‘no doubt’? That makes it sound like he’s got that damn Millenium Eye again!_

Which, of course, wasn’t possible, but still. Mokuba shivered. 

_Think fast! There’s got to be some way to convince Pegasus to take the painting off the auction and not wait for Seto to find out and bid on it!_

It wasn’t as if Pegasus **needed** Seto’s money, either; Kaiba Corporation paid billions of yen—tens of millions of dollars—to Industrial Illusions every year for the near-exclusive license to _Duel Monsters_ . Even if Pegasus wasn’t the primary shareholder anymore, he was still the Chairman of the Board and de facto CEO of the company, which meant he took home a significant chunk of change as long as the game—and its monsters—continued to hold sway over people’s hearts… and wallets. 

“Tell Pegasus I have something else in mind. It’s something more valuable than more Kaiba Corporation money,” Mokuba blurted, saying the first thing that came to mind. 

_But what? What could I possibly have that Pegasus would want?_

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and all Mokuba could hear was the sound of his own heart thudding in his ears. 

“...Very well. Mr. Crawford says he can meet you at Pegasus Castle. We will arrange for a private helicopter to bring you from San Francisco International Airport. Is that acceptable?” 

Mokuba swallowed. In some distant part of his brain, he had hoped that he could just meet Pegasus at Industrial Illusions HQ in the Bay Area, like normal executives did. But no, of course Pegasus wanted Mokuba to come play on his turf. Millennium Eye or no, it was Pegasus’ style. 

“That’s perfect. Thank you, Crocketts. See you soon.” 

Mokuba ended the call and let out a long exhale. 

_Why do I have the feeling that this is going to be a long day?_

Several hours later, Mokuba found himself rubbing his arms as he tried to force the goosebumps crawling up and down them to go away. He hadn’t been back on this island in fourteen years, and he truthfully had never planned on returning the first time he left. 

_This is for Big Brother!_

Well, it was for an attempt at negotiating something that Pegasus might want that could help Mokuba get a present for Seto, and not something Seto had **asked** him to do, but still… 

The helicopter landed on a helipad that hadn’t been anywhere near the castle the last time Mokuba had been there, but he supposed it was perfectly sensible that Pegasus would have made some upgrades or improvements to the island in the intervening years. Even if Pegasus had yet to hold another tournament on the island—to his knowledge, anyway—the place still looked well-kept. 

Some fifteen minutes later, Mokuba found himself escorted by Crocketts down a long hallway into an ample parlor that eerily reminded Mokuba of the dining room at the old Kaiba Mansion, back when he and Seto first arrived after Gozaburo adopted them. It featured all-white walls with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, their thick burgundy curtains tied back with golden cords so as to feature the incredible ocean view. 

Mokuba inhaled sharply, the ocean breeze drifting in from an open pair of windows—no, balcony doors. 

_Is Pegasus…?_

“Ah, Mokuba-boy, you’ve arrived! No, no, you’re all grown-up now, so perhaps Mr. Kaiba is more appropriate?” 

Pegasus emerged from the balcony, and Mokuba almost stumbled. He’d been expecting a man unchanged from his memory: one with long silvery hair covering half his face and wearing an ostentatious suit. Instead, the man before him wore a simple white dress shirt with the top button undone, paint-splattered khakis, his hair tied up in a thick ponytail, and, of all things, a black eyepatch covering the hole where the Millennium Eye once sat. For some reason, the first image that popped into Mokuba’s head was that of Odin, the Norse god. 

“It’s been a while, Pegasus. And like I told Crocketts, ‘Mr. Kaiba’ is more my brother than me, so...” 

_I’m trying to convince him not to put a one-of-a-kind painting up for auction. What’ll get me on his good side? I should stick with pleasantries for now, right? It’s been a while..but I still can’t bring myself to call him ‘Mr. Crawford.’_

“Okay then, Mokuba,” Pegasus smiled, “Should we continue in Japanese, or is it okay if we switch to English? I understand you got your degrees here in the United States, but that was some time ago, if I’m not mistaken. What a studious young man you’ve become!” 

“English is fine,” Mokuba mumbled, feeling the heat rise in his face. “Thank you.” 

Pegasus was still smiling, and it unnerved Mokuba; he couldn’t tell if it was the same arrogant smile that preceded a crushing revelation, or, by some miniscule chance, a genuine one. 

“I was out on the balcony painting. Would you like to see?” 

Mokuba blinked. He hadn’t expected an invitation, but… he was here for a painting, after all. It couldn’t hurt to express interest in just **how** Pegasus had brought _Duel Monsters_ to life. 

“Of course, please, lead the way.” 

Pegasus had an impressive spread of art supplies littering the balcony, including a standing easel, a tabletop easel on a small glass table, a tarp, and an assortment of paint, brushes, and various other implements on virtually every flat surface, including the railing. But Mokuba couldn’t help but step forward and stare at the piece on the standing easel: a magnificent silvery dragon with sapphire-colored pectorals and sky blue musculature revealed here and there. 

“Its wings—” They looked… unfinished. Tattered, even. But there was also no background on the painting, so Mokuba wasn’t even sure if the painting **was** finished, even if the dragon itself looked complete. 

“Hm, I was inspired after a recent visit to South America,” Pegasus said. “One night I camped out under the open sky, and the brilliance of the stars called to me. I must have fallen asleep, but as soon as I awoke, I felt compelled to sketch this dragon.” 

Pegasus walked over to the table and picked up a thick sketchbook filled with sticky flags and bookmarks of varying materials crammed between the pages. He flipped to one particular bookmark and showed Mokuba a rough sketch. 

“Wow, I had no idea… is this really what you do—what you’ve **been** doing—for every _Duel Monsters_ card, ever?” Mokuba’s hands cramped up after just a few hours mindlessly scrolling through Chirper, never mind spending the entire day painting card after card after card. 

To Mokuba’s surprise, Pegasus let out a hearty laugh. “No, no, of course not! I may be prolific with my art at times, but _Duel Monsters_ wouldn’t be the success it is today if I were still responsible for painting every single card.” The smile faded from his lips as he added, “Inspiration is increasingly hard to find these days. Industrial Illusions employs a number of professional artists who are given themes and a few criteria before creating most of the cards in play these days.” 

“I guess…” Mokuba began slowly, “I guess that’s what makes the art for the earlier cards so special. Like the Blue-Eyes White Dragon.” 

“Ah, to business so soon? Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. Your time is precious,” Pegasus said, sighing. He headed back into the parlor and Mokuba trailed behind. 

_Ugh, this is why I leave the negotiating part of business to Seto! I’ve never been good at this!_

Plenty of people considered Mokuba a charmer, but he could never seem to wink and smile his way into—or out of—a business deal. It was one thing to be good at recognizing people’s strengths, to pinpoint a program’s weaknesses and figure out how to make it better, but convincing someone like Pegasus? Who’d been a multimillionaire by the time Mokuba learned to read? 

“Sorry,” Mokuba said, and found that he meant it. He hadn’t meant to seem abrupt and intentional, but… he couldn’t let this chance slip by. “I meant what I told Crocketts over the phone, though. In exchange for taking the Blue-Eyes painting off the auction block, I can offer you something far more valuable than more of Kaiba Corporation’s money.” 

“Oh?” Pegasus raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind? 

Mokuba licked his lips. His thoughts had been racing ever since the phone call with Crocketts, but the best idea that came to mind was the simplest one. “A favor.” 

“Hmm, really? I suppose that does have a fair bit of value, considering who it’s from,” Pegasus said, tapping a finger on his chin and pacing around the room. “Anything else?” 

Mokuba blanched. If Pegasus wouldn’t take a _carte blanche_ favor in exchange for the painting, what could he do? He’d have no choice but to scrap his plans altogether. 

“...No. That’s all I can offer you, honestly.” Mokuba flopped down into one of the room’s plush chairs and started playing with his fingers. “I wanted to get the painting for Seto’s upcoming birthday, but I didn’t want him to find out about it. And yeah, the company could bid on it and probably win, but I get the feeling that for the price you’re asking—the price I’m sure the painting is worth and then some—even Seto might balk at that, for something that just benefits him.” Mokuba let out a shuddering sigh, feeling oddly grateful that he’d been able to tell **someone** what he’d been trying to do and why, even if he never would have expected that person to be Pegasus. 

Pegasus remained silent. Mokuba slowly raised his gaze, only to find the man looking at him thoughtfully, one hand splayed across Pegasus’s jaw as he tapped a finger on his cheek. 

“I wonder which of you has changed more, over the years,” Pegasus said after a moment. “It’s difficult to say.” 

Mokuba had no answer for him. 

“Well!” Pegasus rose from his own chair and slapped both his hands on his legs, “Seeing as you didn’t add any stipulations to your ‘favor,’ I believe I will take you up on it. Right now, in fact.” He walked behind the room’s sofa and removed a cloth covering a stack of leaning canvases and framed portraits. 

Mokuba started. “Y-You will?” 

“Why yes, Mokuba,” Pegasus turned back to face him, and Mokuba swallowed, seeing the mischievous smirk he knew so well return to his face. “In fact, I will not only take you up on your offer, but I will sweeten it.” 

He withdrew two canvases from the pile, one in a familiar gilt frame, and the other on its own, a tall canvas stretched over wood the size of a small movie poster. Then Pegasus flipped the second painting around to face him. 

“A second Blue-Eyes painting?” The original Blue-Eyes painting was something incredible, but this, this—! The Blue-Eyes White Dragon looked even fiercer somehow, looming over the left edge of the painting with one set of claws almost piercing the canvas. Its wings were thrust out slightly, as if it were about to take flight, but it had yet to spread its wings. 

And behind it, an all-too familiar tablet, incredibly detailed lines and shadows recreating each hieroglyph, every creature and person…. 

“Indeed, and one I had no intention of auctioning,” Pegasus stated. “This may come as a surprise to you, but **this** is actually the original Blue-Eyes painting. I did the other one shortly thereafter, and at the time, I felt its art was more suited to a card game than this one.” 

“I—” Mokuba stopped himself from gawking a second longer. “What’s the catch? You’re not really offering to just give me both of these paintings in return for a favor, are you?” 

He knew it was a mistake, putting the ball in Pegasus’ court like that, but he had no choice. He had to know what he was getting into. There was no way he was going to be indebted to Pegasus J. Crawford. 

“Just so you know, I won’t do anything illegal. In any country! And nothing that’ll betray my brother or Kaiba Corporation.” 

“You think so poorly of me, Mokuba?” Pegasus asked, pressing a hand to his cheek and feigning a pouty frown. “I would never ask you to do anything immoral or unjust!” Pegasus’ voice softened. “Besides, you’re not the only one who’s changed over the years.” 

Mokuba let out a breath. “Okay, so then… what? What favor do you want?” 

“It’s a simple one, really,” Pegasus said, waving a hand, which Mokuba knew—he just **knew** —it meant Pegasus was about to ask him to find him a dodo bird or a unicorn, or hand over the code base for Solid Vision, or— “I want a copy of the _Millennium_ libretto.” 

Mokuba froze. Pegasus wasn’t asking for some obscure Ancient Egyptian tablet of a long-lost opera. 

_He knows. But how?!_

“I guess I shouldn’t be **that** surprised that you know about my involvement with it,” Mokuba began. “I mean, we had to use your IP, so I’m sure you signed off on something somewhere.” 

“Indeed, Mokuba, but you certainly had an artful way of obscuring your own involvement with one of the world’s most record-breaking Broadway musicals,” Pegasus said, a sly smile stretching across his face. “Despite being the majority investor, too!” 

Mokuba frowned; he’d only hidden his participation so that his brother wouldn’t hassle him about why he insisted on staying in the United States after he finished his bachelor’s degree, and why he wanted to get his MBA from a completely different school on the other end of the country. And why he’d elected to spend $10 million USD in a part of the entertainment industry that had notoriously low returns on investment, if they had any return at all. 

“I had my reasons.” 

“I’m sure, I’m sure! But I think as one of the co-executive producers of a multiple award-winning show, getting a libretto should be no problem for you. So I have a simple request in addition to my first: I would like it signed by the original cast, if you please. Nothing needs to be personalized, if it’s too much trouble, but it **is** a birthday present, after all.” 

“A birthday—” Mokuba began, his eyebrows knitting on his forehead. 

“Your brother isn’t the only one with a birthday in October, you know. I’ll be having my own little fête just two weeks before.” 

_T-Two weeks before?! But that’s…_ Mokuba quickly ran the numbers in his head, _Thirteen days from now!_

“T-That’s…” Mokuba swallowed, trying to force the blood that had rushed from his face back into his cheeks. “That’s not outside the realm of reason at all. I’ll be happy to get you the libretto.” Even though they’d never published one. And most of the original cast had long since moved on to other productions. And… 

“I’m so happy we’ve come to an agreement, then!” Pegasus clapped his hands and smiled. “I look forward to seeing you in less than two weeks, then, Mokuba. I may even theme my birthday party after the show!” 

Mokuba let out a breathy, half-hearted laugh. “Oh, really? T-That’s awesome.” 

He kept chuckling, barely hearing Pegasus’s chattering as the man escorted him from the parlor and down the long hallway to the castle’s entrance, where Crocketts awaited with the same stoic expression he’d been wearing since Mokuba arrived. 

_Crap, what have I gotten myself into now?!_


	3. A Chain of Deals

**September 27**

**—Tokyo—**

“So, now you know the story so far,” Mokuba said, letting out a long sigh. “You’ll help me, right?”

He was less than 48 hours removed from his conversation with Pegasus at the castle on his private island, but he was already back in Japan and, somewhat unexpectedly, making headway on his goal by contacting the one person he knew could help.

Anzu Mazaki glanced at Mokuba, her normally bright blue eyes ringed with shadows. She pulled her fingers down the side of her face, wincing and pressing her fingers at her jawline.

 _She looks exhausted,_ Mokuba thought, It was one thing to tell his brother he looked like shit, but Mokuba would never, ever, ever tell Anzu that, even if the look on her face bore a striking similarity to how Seto had looked two days ago.

 _A look he’s hopefully_ not _wearing right now_ , Mokuba hoped, considering Seto was supposed to be staying at some remote inn in the mountains and enjoying a variety of therapeutic hot springs.

“You already know we don’t have a libretto,” Anzu told him, rising from her new couch. Everything still had an awful new-house smell, like a mix of freshly-manufactured plastic and seawater. The humidity was also oppressive that day, and Anzu looked like she had yet to reacquaint herself with Japan’s climate after spending more than a decade abroad.

“Yeah, but you have that scrapbook,” Mokuba replied, bouncing off the sofa arm he’d been leaning on. “You do still have it, right? You wouldn’t have gotten rid of it in the move, would you?” He glanced around somewhat frantically at the variety of boxes still littering Anzu’s apartment in the Minato ward in Tokyo. 

Anzu moved toward a tower of boxes tucked next to a mostly empty display case. The industrial-looking collection of metal piping and glass included several solid-walled cubes, a few of them rigged with track lighting and sliding doors. There was already one foam-wrapped statuette inside one bright cube; Anzu withdrew two more from the box before pulling out a large book with deckle-edged pages.

“It’s right here,” she sighed, turning to Mokuba. “You **do** know what you’re asking me to do, right? It’s not just ‘hey, can I make a photocopy of the scrapbook you’ve been keeping for the past six years?’”

“I know,” Mokuba replied quietly. “I would do it myself, but I just got Seto to take a vacation, so I’m trying to do this while taking over for him over the next week.”

Anzu’s eyes widened, the darkened circles under them nearly disappearing as she did so. “Did you just say you got Kaiba-kun to take a **vacation**?”

Mokuba rolled his eyes. “You’re the only one who still calls him that, Anzu.”

Anzu frowned as she handed the scrapbook over to Mokuba so he could look it over. “Old habits die hard,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest as she did so. “It’s not like I’ve seen him in a dozen years.”

“Unless you count seeing his likeness six nights a week when you’re performing,” Mokuba chuckled, but his laughs dwindled when he looked up at Anzu’s face. She wasn’t frowning anymore, but she looked a pale imitation of the vivacious dancer he’d met again in New York four years ago.

“I don’t,” she replied under her breath. “It doesn’t matter who we cast in the role, no one comes close to your brother.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Mokuba swallowed. “I mean otherwise I would have asked you why you were bothering dating that Eric guy when you could have gone after the real thing—”

Anzu swatted at Mokuba with a cushion. “Why’d you have to go and say his name? Bad enough you’ve asked me to track him down to get his signature for this unofficial libretto of yours, but he’ll almost assuredly still be with the guy **he cheated on me with**! The guy who played Yuugi on our original Broadway run, if you recall, Mr. Executive Producer!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Mokuba held his hands up in a weak defense against Anzu’s repeated swings of a decorative throw pillow. “But it’s been more than two years at this point. I think you deserve to move on, to find happiness again.”

Anzu raised an eyebrow at him. “If this is you putting your charm on again—”

Mokuba shook his head furiously, “No! No, I promised I was done with that, I swear. But no matter what, we **are** still friends, and that means I want the best for you.”

Anzu slowly approached the display cabinet and unwrapped the foam-covered statuette, which was really a large medallion with two theatrical masks embossed into it. Around the edges, English letters read “ANTOINETTE PERRY AWARD.” She hefted it in her hands once before setting it back into the case, sighing as she did so.

“You’d think winning three Tony Awards, a Grammy, and God knows how many other awards, I’d have figured out what’s ‘best’ for me, too.”

Mokuba hesitated. “Anzu? Are you okay?” He swallowed an acidic lump that had formed in his throat. “You know, you really don’t have to help me with this. It’s silly, after all, Pegasus demanding a non-existent libretto for his birthday in less than two weeks…”

“I never said I won’t help you, Mokuba,” Anzu bit out. “But I need your help, too.”

“Name it,” Mokuba responded immediately, striding up to hold Anzu by the shoulders. “Literally anything. I’ll launch a satellite to bring you back a chunk of the moon if you want.”

To Mokuba’s delight, Anzu started laughing. “What would I do with a moon rock?”

“I don’t know, add it to your collection of shiny objects?” Mokuba shrugged.

“There are rumors that we’re up for a bunch of Laurence Olivier Awards, you know,” Anzu told him quietly.

“The British award? That’s awesome!”

Anzu bowed her head, a tiny smile still gracing her lips. “It is. But… I think it’s going to be my last awards show, Mokuba.”

He blanched. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been seven years, Mokuba,” Anzu replied. “I’ve been on Broadway, been to San Francisco and Hollywood, and I even helped open our West End production in London. And if I hadn’t pushed for an Asian tour, I wouldn’t be here now. Do you know how long it took to adapt hip-hop lyrics and rap battles into Japanese?”

Mokuba let out a thready laugh. “Eh heh… a long time?”

“Yes, a ‘long time.’ I plan on seeing my contractual performances through to the end of the year, but I’m going to start auditioning understudies to finish the tour in China and Korea. I just— I’m **tired** , Mokuba. I’m finally home, and I want to stay here, at least for the foreseeable future.”

“So…” Mokuba trailed off. 

“So,” Anzu repeated, “if I’m going out, I want to go out with a bang. You can get me the best damned haute couture gown the Laurence Olivier Awards have ever seen. I refuse to be on any ‘Worst Dressed List’ for my grand finale.”

“...You want **me** to get you a dress?” Mokuba gaped at Anzu.

“Why not? You’ve got a decent fashion sense, and I **know** you have connections with designers thanks to Kaiba Corporation’s wearables line.” 

“Well yeah…” Mokuba admitted. Seto’s infamous coats were designed by the famous French designer Jacques Mode, who acted as a special consultant to Kaiba Corporation for its relatively new wearable technology division.

“And considering you maintain the Solid Vision effects for the show wherever we tour, I’m sure you have my measurements in your crystal database or whatever it’s called somewhere,” Anzu added. “The show opens for nearly non-stop performances starting in ten days. I don’t have time to reach out to any of my contacts in New York or London, and I’d prefer to have my dress taken care of long before the actual awards in April.”

Mokuba inhaled sharply. “So let me get this straight: you’ll make a bound copy of your scrapbook and get it signed by the original cast in time for Pegasus’ birthday on the eighth, so long as I get you the most stunning dress on the planet?”

Anzu nodded. “Pretty much.” 

“And you’re not going to give me any restrictions or guidance? What if I bring you back one of those nude dresses covered in a billion Swarovski crystals?”

Anzu laughed again. “You could do worse. I wore what basically amounted to a bunch of plate armor and chainmail one year to the Met Gala.”

“You can’t just wear that to the Laurence Olivier Awards?” Mokuba asked, pouting. Okay, he had promised he wouldn’t “turn on the charm,” as she’d put it, but some quick puppy-dog eyes couldn’t hurt, could they?

Anzu rolled her eyes. “Have you ever **been** to the Met Gala?”

“Nope!” Mokuba responded immediately. “Big Brother’s been invited, but I don’t think he’s ever gone.”

“Probably because he has no desire to get his favorite trench coat metaphorically shredded in the press,” Anzu said. “Needless to say, there’s a different fashion standard at the Met Gala than there is at the Olivier Awards. The main thing is that it needs to be tasteful and floor-length. That’s all the guidance I'm going to give you. Thinking about anything else but the show right now is just going to give me a headache.”

“You’re giving me an awful lot of leeway into what I consider ‘tasteful’,” Mokuba said, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “This is your last chance to back out…”

“If **I** back out, you never get your libretto, which means you never get your paintings. So you better get to calling your designer friends soon. I’ll start getting in touch with as many of the old cast as I can.”

“Thank you, thank you, Anzu, you’re the best!” He strode toward her and picked her clean up off the ground, heedless of her squeal. “I will not disappoint you.”

“Okay, okay, put me down!” Anzu protested. “...And before you ask, yes, I will get in touch with Eric and Dan. It’s hardly an autographed libretto if I don’t have the two original leads’ signatures in there.”

Mokuba pursed his lips and then reached out to hug Anzu tightly. “Thanks again, Anzu. I mean it. I know… it’s more than I should ask of you. So whatever you need—even after the dress—you know I’m here.”

Anzu smiled, but there were unshed tears gathering on her lash line. “I know, Mokuba. I appreciate that.”

Minutes later, Mokuba was on his way out of Anzu’s apartment complex, trying to keep his sunglasses from sliding off his nose as he re-tied his ponytail on the back of his head with both of his hands. The Kaiba Corporation town car he’d messaged a while ago was supposed to arrive any minute, but the traffic was awful.

 _I hope she’ll be okay,_ Mokuba thought, looking back up at Anzu’s towering apartment complex. _This place is nothing like Domino, that’s for sure._

Anzu might be back in Japan, but Mokuba knew without a doubt that Anzu couldn’t bring herself to reach out to her old “friends.” After all, she’d gone ahead and helped make a musical based on her adventures with Atem—from an abbreviated version of Duelist Kingdom and Battle City all the way through the Ceremonial Duel—without Yuugi’s express permission.

She’d asked him, Mokuba knew, but he’d outright refused, even though Anzu pleaded, telling him it was her big chance to make it in a theatrical production, to have a meaningful role in something. Maybe the Millennium Puzzle was really responsible for the group’s unity, because once it was gone, it seemed like Yuugi, Anzu, and the others scattered to the four winds, never to come together as the same friend group again.

It didn’t seem right, but what was he supposed to do about it? For now, all he could do was work on getting Anzu a killer dress.

_Everything else can wait._

* * *

Okay, not **everything** could wait. Mokuba still had the to-do list from Seto to complete, and even fewer days to get those tasks done. Once the company town car picked Mokuba up, he opened up the to-do list Seto had sent him. He reviewed the items with the most urgent due dates first.

  * _Finish contacting Pro Duelists & managers, inc. Phoenix, J. Manjoume, R.O△, X, KKid, Math?, Parker, Guerrero, KJ. _


  * Contact Schroeder Corp. to confirm S&L received their exhibition invitation


  * Arrange final fitting for new wearable tech. suit from J. Mode (Get Mokuba suit?)
  * Ad contracts: countersign any outstanding after clearance from Legal, send to SV or PR as needed



_How does Big Brother remember all these acronyms?_ Who was X? Or Math, for that matter, and why did they have a question mark next to their name—if it was even a name at all? At least the von Schroeder line was easy to understand…

 _Wait, ‘Get Mokuba suit?’_ Mokuba re-read the line. _That’s perfect!_

A few taps on his phone later, and he heard the line to Jacques Mode’s Tokyo atelier ring.

“ _Bonjour_ , you have reached the Tokyo atelier of fashion designer Jacques Mode—”

“Ah, great, my name is Mokuba Kaiba, I’m calling to—”

“—the atelier is closed at this time for the duration of Fashion Week. Monsieur Mode will return following the conclusion of Paris Fashion Week on October 3…”

 _Damn it!_

Of course he’d get a voicemail. But… if Mode was in Paris for Fashion Week, and—if Mokuba knew his fancy-schmancy events right, it was for next spring’s designs— then he could kill two birds with one stone and not only arrange for Seto’s final fitting sometime **after** both his vacation and Fashion Week, but get a perfect dress for Anzu suitable for a spring awards show. He wouldn’t have to get help from anyone at Kaiba Corporation and give away his secret plan in the process, **and** he’d still accomplish everything that Seto asked him to handle.

 _And hey, maybe I_ should _get myself a new suit while I’m at it. I’m sure that’d make Big Brother do a double-take, if I showed up in a tailored three-piece suit!_

Seto favored suits in one of two varieties: dark and moody, or brilliant white. All of his dress shirts were either stark white or a shade of blue, and his ties were either gray, blue, or black, no exceptions. Mokuba, on the other hand, preferred warmer colors, like a nice ivory or a rich berry color, something that straddled the line between red and violet. While Seto’s jackets always matched his trousers, Mokuba was fond of mixing it up: a dress shirt with a contrasting tie, and maybe pants a few shades darker than a nice vest. If he was feeling particularly artsy, he might even throw in a pocket square or an interesting pattern or textured fabric.

_That settles it! I’ll not only blow Anzu away with a dress for her, I’ll surprise Seto by getting the perfect suit for the exhibition!_

Not long after arriving at Kaiba Corporation, he dialed Isono. 

“Hey Isono, I need to get the number for Jacques Mode’s Paris atelier in order to arrange for Seto’s fitting….”

Mokuba never thought he’d be desperate to remember his undergraduate French classes, but half an hour later, he was grateful he’d opted to take a Romance language for his foreign language requirement in college. At the time, he’d made the excuse that it was a great way to pick up girls, but it had proved useful today when he’d gotten hold of a frantic young woman at the Paris atelier, presumably scrambling to get everything needed for the upcoming Jacques Mode show later that week.

He faked that he had a scheduled appointment with the designer, but when she insisted it wasn’t possible because of Fashion Week, Mokuba laughed and pretended that **that** was why he didn’t recognize the address for their meeting; he was already attending the show, so….

Soon after, he not only knew where to go for Mode’s show during Fashion Week, but a point of contact to help him get backstage. 

_Thank goodness there’s already a Kaiba Hotel in Paris because of the upcoming Kaiba Land in Europe… and that they always keep the penthouse suite reserved for occasions just like this!_

Some eleven hours later, Mokuba collapsed face-first into the pillowy-soft comforter in his hotel room, conscious enough only to request an 8 a.m. wake-up call and fresh croissants with eggs for breakfast before falling into a deep sleep.


	4. The First Labor: Slay Fashion Week

**September 28**

**—Paris—**

_Thank God Mode’s show is one of the afternoon ones,_ Mokuba thought tiredly as he made his way through the Carrousel du Louvre. The hotel verified that Mokuba had been added to the show’s guest list, and offered him the option to attend any of the others and stay throughout the week, but he declined: he was a man on a mission.

Thanks to his contact at the atelier— _what was her name again? Sophie? Clair? Adeline?_ —Mokuba knew just where to go approximately ten minutes before the show’s conclusion. She’d even told him to keep an eye out for “the model who has a peacock in her hair.” At first, Mokuba thought he’d misheard, or forgotten a particular French word, but no, the girl assured him, she was talking about an actual bird, woven into someone’s hair. Or something like that.

While waiting for the peacock lady to make an appearance, Mokuba saw numerous dresses, but none of them quite seemed right for Anzu at the Laurence Olivier Awards. One looked like a black sparkling number that a superhero might wear, with a completely different matte black fabric wrapping across one shoulder and forming a sleeve. The deep shoulder cut-out was interesting, but the skirt barely skimmed the model’s lower thighs. 

_Nah, she said it had to be floor length._

Then there was the woman who looked like she had some sort of crocheted light blue chandelier hanging around her neck, with what looked like a large white T-shirt underneath it. That was it.

_Why does Anzu think I have a decent fashion sense? If this stuff is considered high fashion, I don’t have any sense for it at all!_

There were some fun rainbow patterns on dresses, and a few models who had haircuts similar to Anzu, but there never quite seemed something that seemed… **her** _._

_Well, if I’m getting a custom suit, Anzu might as well get a custom dress. I’m sure if I tell Mode about her, he’ll be able to whip something up._

The peacock model had just started to walk down the runway when Mokuba rose from his seat and headed toward the secret back entrance to Mode’s waiting room. He’d expected more resistance getting there, but to his surprise, everyone seemed to be heading the opposite direction, so no one blinked twice at a handsome young man making his way backstage toward Jacques Mode’s green room.

The place was empty when he got there, if a bit cluttered: multiple dressing racks draped with various outfits, what looked like half a sewing kit spilled out on a vanity littered with pins and needles, and a small white table with a neat stack of file folders perched on top. Mokuba sat on the corner of the table and opted to scroll through Chirper while he waited.

“Who are you and what are you doing in here?” The voice that interrupted Mokuba’s exploration of a Chirper thread—about the supposedly secret backstory behind a _Duel Monsters_ set that had yet to make it to Japan—was **not** the young, airy female voice he’d spoken with over the phone.

Mokuba looked up, astonished that he knew the statuesque blond woman before him. Sure, she was wearing a dark purple pantsuit with laced-edge sleeves and a black body-hugging turtleneck instead of a denim miniskirt, jacket, and corset top, and sure, her hair was a bit shorter and sleeker, but Mokuba would recognize her anywhere.

“Kujaku Mai?!”

She narrowed her violet eyes at him and his surname-first address. “I am. But that doesn’t answer my question,” she said in a low voice, long fingernails clacking on the clipboard she kept in a vice grip. She kept speaking French, which came as something of a surprise to Mokuba, but then he noticed the logo on the back of her clipboard: Atelier Jacques Mode.

Mokuba hopped off the edge of the table and smiled at Mai, who remained rigidly in place, refusing to take her eyes off him for a second. “I’m a private client who has an appointment with Mr. Mode,” Mokuba said, switching seamlessly to Japanese. “See here, on your clipboard: Mokuba Kaiba.”

Mai’s gaze drifted down to her clipboard, but she didn’t have a guest list on it; it was the time blocking for the show that had just completed. But then she seemed to process his words….

“Mokuba Kaiba!?”

“Took you long enough, Mai-san!” Mokuba laughed. “It’s been a long time.”

Mai’s eyes widened, and she blinked several times before putting down the clipboard and staring at Mokuba.

“There’s no way. Mokuba Kaiba is a little kid—” Mai put her hand near her hip. Her eyebrows knit in the center of her forehead, emphasizing a crease that hadn’t been there when Mokuba last saw Mai some thirteen years ago.

“Haha, well you might be ageless and eternally beautiful, but some of us grow up! It **has** been more than a decade, you know,” Mokuba replied, offering Mai one of his charming smiles. Her nose turned faintly pink, but she still looked more confused than anything else.

“I guess it has,” Mai said, her voice nearly a whisper. “I guess it has.” She looked up after a moment and shook her head. “But what **are** you doing here? Jacques doesn’t make private client appointments during Fashion Week.”

“So you **do** work for him, then! I heard you quit dueling, but I didn’t really believe it.”

Mai scoffed and started collecting the files from the small table. “That was a long time ago. Dueling doesn’t pay the bills past a certain point, kid.”

“Hey, I’m not a—”

“I know, I know, Mokuba-kun. Sorry, it’s just strange. I haven’t really seen anybody from back then. Not in a long time.”

“Well, not dueling will do that to you,” Mokuba said. “So you’re a fashion designer now?”

Mai laughed. “Not a chance. I’m Jacques’ executive assistant. One of them, anyway. He brought everyone from all his different ateliers around the world to accompany him for Fashion Week, so here I am.”

“That’s perfect! You already know that Jacques is Kaiba Corporation’s wearables line special consultant, right?” 

“I’ve heard about it,” Mai began slowly. “Though I don’t exactly have personal involvement in Jacques’ special projects.”

Mokuba waved a hand back and forth, “That doesn’t matter, the point is that he designs all of Big Brother’s suits for big events, and his 30th birthday—and a really big _Duel Monsters_ exhibition—is coming up, and I’m here to arrange for his fitting.”

Mai gaped at him. “You came all the way to Paris—during Fashion Week—to make an **appointment** for your brother?”

“Well…” Mokuba trailed off and pulled lightly on one earlobe. “Not exactly. I mean, I need a suit, too, which wasn’t part of the original plan, but more importantly, I need to get a dress. Like, a really special dress. And soon.”

“Define ‘soon,’” Mai said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know that most custom clothing takes anywhere from four to six months, minimum, and that’s when we’re **not** busy with things like Fashion Week.”

“Uh, well I need to have the dress before April, but if I can at least order it now...”

“What’s your hurry, anyway?” Mai arched an eyebrow at him. “Did you knock somebody up and you need a wedding dress?”

Mokuba scowled at her. “No! It’s for Anzu.”

Mai’s brows shot into her hairline. “Anzu-chan?” Her voice softened. “I haven’t seen her in years. But I did hear about that musical of hers, and that it’s headed to Japan.”

Mokuba bit his lip, about to brag that it was **his** musical too, that he had helped fund it and turn _Millennium_ into a worldwide phenomenon, but it was supposed to be a secret. Or something of one, anyway, since his investment hadn’t been company-sanctioned or approved. Yes, it was his money to spend as he wanted, but he was pretty sure Seto hadn’t had “help make a Broadway musical into a record-breaking hit” on his short list of allowable expenses for Mokuba’s trust fund.

“Yeah, it starts in nine days,” Mokuba finally replied. “Through Christmas, at least, if not longer depending on how successful the run is.” Which he had no doubt would be an incredible success. Everywhere the show toured, even when Anzu wasn’t playing herself in the primary cast, the show sold out tickets weeks—if not months—in advance. Every theatre had a full house, and every week’s shows generated close to five million yen in profits.

“I’m happy for her,” Mai said with a faint smile on her face. “I haven’t had the chance to see it anywhere, myself,” she admitted. “The timing just hasn't been right.”

“Like the timing between you and Jounouchi?” Mokuba blurted, remembering Mai’s accusation that he’d knocked somebody up. 

_She goes from calling me a kid to accusing me like I’m some kind of scoundrel? How does that track?_

Mai’s face reddened and she stood up, her berry-red lips fixed in a scowl. “If you’re trying to convince me to help you fast-track an order for a custom suit **or** a dress, you’re not doing a very good job at buttering me up.”

Mokuba swallowed. “I’m sorry. Really, Mai-san. I– I know you and Jounouchi don’t always have the best relationship—” Their on-again, off-again romance was something of a hot topic several years ago, when Jounouchi rose through the ranks of the Pro League to become a formidable opponent, and he started doing special events, like Tag Duels and Duelist Cruises. He and Mai had dueled side-by-side for one particular tournament, but after one particularly messy loss, Mai refused to duel with Jounouchi again and left him hanging for the remainder of the Tag Duel matches. He’d adapted quickly, as Jounouchi was wont to do, and managed to pull a victory from the jaws of defeat, even against overwhelming odds.

Mai never returned to the world of Pro Dueling after that.

“...But I think you guys will find your way back to each other, in the end. I’ve always thought you guys were meant to be together. But that’s just me. And I’m not here to do anything right now except help a friend.”

After a moment, Mai let out a long exhale. “Fine. So you need a suit and a dress?”

“Yeah, about the suit… I actually need that before the end of next month.”

“Are you kidding—”

“But I’ll give you free rein! Anzu and I should both have all our updated measurements in the Solid Vision database Mode has access to, and I just need something decent for the exhibition, nothing too custom or fancy. I just don’t want to look like a penguin next to my brother.”

Mai gave him an unabashed once-over. “You’d be pretty hard-pressed to do that, considering you’re about the same height as that beanpole, if not taller.”

Mokuba’s mouth opened in a little ‘o.’ No one had **ever** dared call his brother a beanpole! “I uh— maybe?”

Mai smirked. “Fine, a nice suit for you that’s nothing like what your brother’s ordered and— what kind of dress for Anzu-chan?”

“She’s going to the Laurence Olivier Awards in London in April,” Mokuba said, no small amount of pride leaking into his voice as he told Mai. “ _Millennium_ might be taking home some pretty big awards, and—” Remembering Anzu’s exhausted expression, he lowered his voice. “And she’s probably going to retire from the show after Christmas. She’s been on the road or doing short residencies for a long time, and she was saying how she’s pretty tired.”

Mai tilted her head and tapped her jaw with a manicured nail. “So ‘go big or go home,’ is that right?”

“Pretty much,” Mokuba confessed. “She doesn’t want to be on anybody’s Worst Dressed List, she said. Left it up to me to decide what’s considered ‘tasteful,’ but I’m not really the best judge of women’s fashion. I mean, women tend to look good no matter what they wear…”

To Mokuba’s surprise, Mai walked up and pinched his cheek. “You really are still a kid at heart, aren’t you? Sometimes it’s amazing that your grouch of a brother basically raised you and you turned out as good as you did.”

“Hey!” Mokuba’s cheek stung, and he covered up the spot with one hand. “Thanks, I guess,” he grumbled. 

“Well then!” Mai picked up her clipboard once more and began writing down several quick notes. “I’ll help you get a suit for the exhibition and Anzu-chan a dress for her awards show. But in return, **you** have to do **me** a favor.”

A cold sweat gathered at the small of Mokuba’s back. “Oh? What kind of favor?”

“Nothing too outrageous,” Mai told him as she tore a small scrap of paper from her notepad. 

_Where have I heard_ that _one before?_

“Once Fashion Week ends in four days, I’ll spend a day or two here helping clean up, maybe recuperate a bit, and then I’m headed back to Japan. I’ve been meaning to trade in my Cabi, but I just haven’t had the time. So you’re going to do it for me.”

“I am?” Mokuba took the proffered paper from Mai. There was a license plate number, along with a few other details, including the phrase ‘206 CC → 308 CC, violet or dark blue preferred.’ 

“You are,” Mai repeated, turning around to the clothing rack. She plucked a set of keys from an elegant pouch and handed them to Mokuba. “I’ve had the same Peugeot 206 CC for more than a decade now. It’s a great car, but it’s time to let it go. I’m due for an upgrade, so all you have to do is take the old car to a place where you can get a decent trade-in value for the new one, and I’ll cover the difference. And if you can get one in a color I like, even better. Do that for me and I’ll make sure Anzu-chan gets a gown that’ll knock the socks off every one of those London paparazzi.”

_A car trade-in?_ Outside of that one time when he’d gone to a dealership with Seto in the United States over a decade ago, Mokuba had never bought a car, much less traded one in. But…

_I can’t let Anzu down!_

Mokuba nodded once and held his hand out to Mai. “Trade in your Cabriolet for the newest model, and you’ll get me a suit by October 25th and Anzu her gown before the Olivier Awards in April.”

“Remember, blue or purple if you can, and it’s got to have right-hand steering.”

“No problem. It’s a deal?”

“Deal.”


	5. The Second Labor: Capture a Cabriolet

**September 29**

**—Domino—**

_I am beginning to regret every part of this deal._

Mokuba ran his fingers through his hair, which had long since pulled free from his basic black hair tie. After getting back from Paris early in the morning, Mokuba took a half day to recover from his jet lag before getting back to work. He’d spent the last three hours calling practically every dealership that carried European vehicles in the entirety of Japan, only to be told one of two things: one, they didn’t accept trade-ins, or two, they didn’t have the Peugeot 308 CC model Mai wanted, let alone in blue or purple. 

He’d nearly exhausted his list; he was now at the Ws, and there was only one left: a Watanabe Dream Factory, on the outskirts of Domino. 

The phone rang once, twice, three times, and finally someone picked up, barely audible over the sound of buzzing, shouts, and clanging metal. 

“...Dream Factory...Honda…speaking.” 

“This is Watanabe Dream Factory, right? Not a Honda dealership?” Mokuba practically shouted into the phone, hoping he could be heard over the ruckus. 

“If this is a prank—” an irritated voice replied, sounding much clearer now, the background noise muffled. 

“No, no, no, not at all! I’ve just been calling dealerships all day, and I’m trying to make sure I’m not calling a Honda dealer,” Mokuba explained. 

“No, I said ‘Honda speaking,’ sir. What can I help you with?” 

_Honda? Wait, like Yuugi’s friend from way back when?_ Honda was a pretty common surname, though. What were the chances? 

_I mean, there are probably at least two people with the surname ‘Honda’ here at Kaiba Corporation right now,_ Mokuba thought. _But it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?_

“By any chance, is your name Hiroto Honda?” 

For a second, Mokuba thought the line had disconnected, since he didn’t hear a reply. 

“Who is this?” the voice asked, not answering Mokuba’s question. 

“It’s Mokuba Kaiba. I’ve got a Peugeot 206 CC I need to trade up for the 308 CC, and I’m really, really hoping you can help me.” 

“...Mokuba, seriously? Did car collecting become your thing?” 

Mokuba let out a deep exhale. “So it is you, Honda!” 

“Long time no chat, kid. Ah, well, I guess you’re not a kid anymore, are you? You’re what, 22? 23?” 

“Close,” Mokuba laughed. “Twenty-four this year. And no, it’s not my car. I’m doing it as a favor for a friend.” 

“Would this friend happen to be a certain blonde whose name I won’t say aloud?” Honda grumbled. 

“Ah—” Mokuba began, pulling on his earlobe. “Probably? I mean, I suppose I know who you mean, but maybe not. Does the person you’re thinking of have something of an on-again, off-again thing with a certain Pro Duelist mutual acquaintance of ours?” 

“Considering how rarely Jounouchi comes home for so much as a beer these days, ‘mutual acquaintance’ might be a good word for him, yeah. Okay, fine, so you’ve got Mai’s car for some reason and you’re trading it in… why?” 

“It’s kind of a long story. But I don’t want to take up any more of your time if you can’t help—” 

“Oh, I might be able to help you,” Honda replied, the sound of a door shutting echoing through the line. “I don’t know how much you know about Watanabe Dream, but it’s one of the country’s bigger vehicle importers and exporters, and we happen to specialize in European brands. And I happen to be the manager of our used import-export division.” 

“For real?” Mokuba shifted upright in his seat and sucked in a breath. “What do you mean by ‘might’ anyway? Do you have any 308 CCs? In blue or purple?” 

“Like I said, I might. But I’ll need to see this 206 you’re talking about first. Why don’t we set up a meet?” 

“Sure. Mai told me where the car’s parked, and I have the keys. It’s in the long-term parking at the airport, though.” 

“That’s fine. I can meet you there, say, tomorrow at 11 o’clock?” 

_It’s cutting it awfully close. I only have nine more days to get Mai her car, Anzu her dress, and Pegasus his libretto!_

“Sure,” Mokuba agreed with a faint chuckle. “Whatever works best for you.” 

* * *

**September 30**

**—Narita International Airport—**

“I’m going to be real with you,” Honda said, sliding out from under Mai’s car, “She’s kept it in good shape. But she’s probably paying out of her ass for the taxes on this, since it’s so old and has depreciated a ton from when she first got it. I don’t know what kind of number she gave you for a good trade-in value—” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Mokuba replied with a sharp wave of his hand. “She’s doing me a favor, and she said she’d pay any difference besides. And even if that number ends up being higher than she wanted, I’ll make up for the difference. It’s not like a custom suit and dress are all that cheap.” 

“A dress?” Honda’s brows scrunched up in the center of his forehead. The years had been tougher on him than they had on Seto; his skin looked far more weather-worn, and he had a scruffy-looking moustache attached to a five o’clock shadow that could barely qualify as a beard. 

“Yeah, for Anzu,” Mokuba explained. “The suit’s for me, though. For the exhibition coming up next month.” 

Honda’s eyebrows shot up near his hairline. “Anzu? Damn. It’s been even longer since I’ve talked to her than I have Jounouchi. What’s the dress for?” Honda’s eyes narrowed. “You better not have knocked her up and are getting her some fancy wedding dress for a shotgun wedding.” 

“Why does everyone think I would do that?!” Mokuba yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. “Are there some tabloids making me out like I’m some sort of womanizer?” 

Honda shrugged, “No, sorry, sorry. You don’t usually hear about a guy getting a fancy dress for a girl unless it’s something like that, though...” 

“First off, Anzu’s a woman, not a girl, and she’d be the first to tell you that if she were here,” Mokuba said. “And second, **really**? When was the last time you actually met a person who bought a wedding dress for someone else because of something like that?” 

“Anzu would elbow me in the gut first, but yeah, I guess you’re right,” Honda said, rubbing his neck. “Actually, Shizuka was talking about this cute little red velvet getup she saw at some store in Roppongi last week, and I **was** thinking about getting it for her…” 

“See?” Mokuba crossed his arms over his chest. 

_He’s dating Shizuka? Have they been together since all the way back then?_ Mokuba wondered. He opted not to get further off topic. 

_Focus, Mokuba! You’ve got to get the car so you can get the dress so you can get the libretto so you can get the paintings!_

“So, about the car—” 

“Look,” Honda said, running his hand over his jaw, “I’ll let you in on some secrets of exporting cars: this won’t resell anywhere in Japan, it’s too new to send Stateside, and the likelihood of her getting a decent trade-in to get the new model is slim if we send it to Africa or India. **If** , and this is a big **if** , we get a buyer in Australia or Hong Kong, you’d be golden, but you’re still talking about factoring in inspection, cleaning, any maintenance, and storage.” 

Mokuba squeezed his eyes shut. “So what?” He opened his eyes and stared at Honda. “Are you telling me it’s hopeless, and I’ll have better luck just buying her a brand new Peugeot 308 CC and having you get rid of the old one for me?” 

Honda’s eyes widened. “No, not exactly—” 

“Just give it to me straight,” Mokuba said with a sigh. “Tell me what I need to do to make this happen.” 

Honda shifted his jaw. “I am in a position to make some expedited arrangements,” he began. “But if a man of your means could help **me** with something…” 

“Oh?” Surely someone like Honda wasn’t about to ask him for a loan, right? But if not, what did Mokuba’s “means” have to do with it, then? 

Honda walked up to Mokuba and muttered under his breath, as if someone in the massive parking lot could somehow overhear them despite the planes taking off and landing overhead. 

“See, the truth is, I’ve been saving up to propose to Shizuka, but I know it needs to be something really special, really memorable. I was going to get a reservation at this fancy restaurant and take her out to see _Millennium_ , but when I called the place, they said they were booked up like, six months in advance!” 

Mokuba furrowed his brows. “What do you expect me to do about it? I highly doubt this place is owned by Kaiba Corporation.” The company had a portfolio of cafés and convenience stores, but they had yet to do anything beyond pop-up eateries at _Duel Monsters_ exhibitions. Even the restaurants in Kaiba Hotels were rented by top chefs or luxury restaurant groups. 

Honda stuffed in hands in his pockets. “I don’t know, talk to somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody? Grease a palm or two?” 

Mokuba let out a breath that condensed in the chilly air. “What’s the name of this restaurant?” 

“Sorasio,” Honda replied. “It’s European fusion. Super-fancy. I want… I want it to be super special, so I didn’t want to take her out to another bar, you know?” 

Technically speaking, Mokuba **didn’t** know. He’d dated, sure, but he hadn’t found “the one” yet. He didn’t expect to, not any time soon, especially not with his brother’s policies on not dating anyone within the company, even though those were the people he spent the most time getting to know. 

“I guess,” Mokuba said. “Wait, did you already get your tickets for _Millennium_ , then?” 

It would be a lot easier to “grease some palms,” as Honda had put it, if he had an exact date in mind for all this to happen, but if he could pull some strings as the executive producer, maybe that would give Honda that much more incentive to help with Mai’s trade-in as soon as possible. 

“Eh, hahah, about that…” Honda chuckled and rubbed his neck again. “I was going to get around to it—” 

Mokuba glared at him. “You do know that _Millennium_ has sold out of its advance tickets at basically every stop on its worldwide tour, right? That even when a city has a season-long residency, shows sell out months before it even opens?” 

Honda swallowed. “Oh? You seem to know an awful lot about the show....” 

“It was on the news!” Mokuba exclaimed. 

_It won’t matter that much, will it, if I tell Honda the truth about how I’m connected to_ Millenium _?_ Mokuba thought. _But maybe, just maybe,_ **_not_ ** _telling him will be more helpful here._

“Listen, tell you what: I’ll get you the _Millennium_ tickets, too, but you have to get me the 308, sitting right here in this spot, by October 2nd. I’ll take care of any difference in the cost, if the trade-in takes longer, but I need the car by the time Mai gets back from Paris.” 

“Paris?” Honda frowned. “Not Germany?” 

Mokuba looked at Honda with one eyebrow raised. “Why would she be in Germany? She’s in Paris for Fashion Week,” he explained. 

“Oh… nothing,” Honda murmured, glancing off to the side—at a boring silver sedan that had been sitting there the entire time they’d been in the lot. 

Mokuba had a feeling that it wasn’t “nothing,” but he didn’t want to push his luck too far. 

“So, can you make it happen? The new car here in two days?” 

Honda pursed his lips. “For _Millennium_ tickets and reservations at Sorasio, plus I get to do what I want with this car so long as you get the new one?” 

“Yes,” Mokuba affirmed. “You can dismantle it for all I care, I just want to hand the keys over to Mai when she gets back on the second.” 

“Deal. I’ll do my best to get a similar color, but no guarantees that it’ll be the exact same shade, let alone purple. Custom jobs like that take more than two days, and even I don’t have the equipment or connections for that.” 

“I’ll live,” Mokuba agreed, reaching out a hand. “Deal.” He shook on it, and with that, was one step closer to getting the Blue-Eyes White Dragon paintings than he had been yesterday. 


	6. The Third Labor: Arrange a Venue for a Christmas Proposal

**—Downtown Tokyo—**

_So now I have to figure out how to get reservations for this Sorasio place,_ Mokuba thought. He brought up the restaurant’s listing on his phone and discovered it was literally upstairs from the theatre where _Millennium_ would be playing. Judging by the reviews, Honda had picked a good spot for a proposal: reviews flushed about the stunning nighttime view, the attentiveness of the servers, the delicious cocktails. 

Getting tickets to an evening show sometime in December—maybe around Christmastime?—would probably be ideal, but the restaurant was likely to either be completely closed or jam-packed. 

_Well, I won’t get anywhere if I don’t get in touch with them,_ Mokuba decided. He’d driven himself to the airport, and he had to pass through Tokyo proper to get back to Domino, anyway. _What’s one little detour?_

A little over an hour later, he’d finally found parking not that far from the Dentsu Building, home of the Caretta Shiodome Sky Restaurants, including the elusive Sorasio. He had about 100,000 yen in his wallet; he hoped it would be enough to secure a reservation, but he’d never done anything like this before. 

By the time he made it up to the 46th floor, Mokuba had rehearsed for a number of scenarios in the elevator he’d had to himself—if the restaurant was closed, if the restaurant had a female hostess without a ring on, if there was a male host who looked around his age—but he was not prepared for the restaurant being open but only lightly populated by lunchtime crowds. 

“Welcome to Sorasio,” the host—a middle-aged man in a black suit—said in Japanese. When Mokuba didn’t reply right away, he switched to English. “Sir, are you interested in a table for one, or can I help you with something else?” 

“Oh, sorry,” Mokuba replied in Japanese. “I’m here to make a reservation for a friend.” 

“Certainly, sir,” the man—his name tag read “Hashimoto”— said, still speaking formally. “Are you looking for reservations for a luncheon, meeting, party, or a dinner course?” 

“The dinner course—I think. My friend wants to propose to his girlfriend this Christmas, and he specifically said it had to be here,” Mokuba smiled. Even if he couldn’t exactly flirt with this Hashimoto guy, there was nothing stopping him from being a charming guest, right? 

The man pinched his lips together and sucked in a bit of air through the corners of his mouth. “I’m afraid we’re all booked up for the week of Christmas, unfortunately...but perhaps your friend would be interested in a New Year’s reservation? The Winter Illumination will still be present, and makes for a beautiful backdrop to any nighttime reservation.” 

Millennium _might not be continuing past Christmas, though._ Well, the **show** probably would, but it wouldn’t be in Japan. It would probably be touring China or Korea, and Anzu certainly wouldn’t be in the primary cast anymore. Even if Honda hadn’t spoken to Anzu in a while, he surely had to know she was one of the stars, if not her role as a writer, producer, and choreographer for the show. No doubt Shizuka wanted to see one of her old friends perform, too. 

Mokuba licked his lips. He couldn’t take no for an answer. 

_What would Big Brother do in this situation?_

“What if I pay for the reservation entirely in advance?” Mokuba proposed. He opened his wallet and fanned out the slender wad of ten-thousand yen notes. He looked up between dark lashes and was pleased to see the man’s eyes widen a fraction. 

“The best I could do would be to add your friend’s name to the waitlist…” 

“Tell you what,” Mokuba said, pulling a small stack of bills from the wad, “Why not ask your manager if anything can be done? Let him know that Mokuba Kaiba is considering utilizing the restaurant for future Kaiba Corporation meetings and events.” 

Well, he hadn’t been planning on relying on the Kaiba name, but it didn’t hurt to try, did it? Besides, there was nothing stopping him from making **future** reservations at the restaurant, even if it was a bit out of the way of headquarters. For a single dinner reservation, maybe one or two lunch meetings could be scheduled, and Mokuba could save them for when Kaiba Corporation had visitors from abroad? 

“Ah… I will go and ask my manager if there is anything that can be done. Please feel free to enjoy a beverage at our bar while you wait, Kaiba-sama.” 

Mokuba was about to correct the man and once again say his **brother** was “Kaiba-sama,” but the man disappeared before he could. He let out a protracted sigh and made his way to the polygonal bar, where a few people were already sitting or standing, enjoying various brightly colored drinks. 

“...hang on a second, I’ve got to help this customer,” a female voice murmured from off to Mokuba’s right. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Welcome to Sorasio. Can I get you something to drink, sir?” 

Mokuba blew a puff of air up his face, sending his unruly hair flying. “I’ve got to drive, so it’ll have to be something non-alcoholic,” he mumbled. “Uh, I guess I’ll have tonic water?” 

“Give him a virgin chocolate mint mojito,” a male voice called from the other end of the bar. Mokuba glanced up at the man—a handsome man with his hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, a single loose strand artfully dangling over one emerald-colored eye. He had a thick, ink black moustache and beard, and an impish grin on his face. He wore head-to-toe black, a sleek blazer with satin lapels paired with a crew neck shirt and trousers. 

“Don’t tell me you grew out of chocolate, Mokuba?” 

The man tilted his head to the side, and that was when Mokuba caught sight of an elegant scarlet die affixed to a silver chain hanging from a stud in one of the man’s ears. “Otogi?! No way!” 

“Yes way,” Otogi smiled, walking over to where Mokuba was sitting. “Long time no see. How are things at Kaiba Corporation?” 

“Uh—” Mokuba looked to the female bartender, who was smiling mischievously herself. “I’ll have that mojito he suggested, if it’s not too much trouble.” She nodded once and walked off to mix Mokuba’s drink, leaving him to face Otogi. 

“‘If it’s not too much trouble’?” Otogi chuckled. “I heard you went to school in the States, but I had no idea the Kaiba brothers were so genial. And here I thought you were going to try and slide fifty grand in Hashimoto’s pocket when he turned around.” 

Mokuba blinked. “You know the host?” 

“I’m a regular,” Otogi explained as the bartender returned with Mokuba’s drink. She offered a wink to Otogi before heading around the bar to assist other customers. “My girlfriend is the sous chef.” 

Mokuba screwed up his lips in frustration. “So I guess that means you don’t have to bother with the reservation system.” 

Otogi raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you were asking Hashimoto about? Why, when are you trying to get a reservation, Christmas Eve?” 

Mokuba looked down at the green velvet bar stools. “Maybe.” 

“Ha!” Otogi let out a bark of laughter and slapped his hand on the bar countertop. “What, you’ve got a special someone you’re inviting out for a romantic night on the town?” 

“At least you didn’t accuse me of knocking someone up,” Mokuba grumbled under his breath. 

“What? Who said that?” Otogi remarked, his eyes widening. “I mean, I’ve never seen you **or** your brother in the gossip rags. Business newspapers, sure, there’s usually at least one front page article keeping up with whatever’s going on at Kaiba Corporation most weeks.” 

“Who said it doesn’t matter,” Mokuba said. “Does that mean you’ve heard about the exhibition?” 

“Funny you should ask,” Otogi smiled, leaning on the bar and sipping his own drink, a transparent beverage the color of dark amber. “I spent something like the last month working all my contacts affiliated with Kaiba Corporation to get ad space at the exhibition for my new game, but I kept getting the runaround. I finally gave up earlier this week, and then you show up.” 

Mokuba took a swig of his virgin mojito, letting the minty chocolate flavor settle on his tongue. Otogi was right; it was a pretty good drink even without the alcohol. He set his glass down on the glass bar top and glanced up at Otogi. 

“Then do me a favor,” he started, “help me guarantee a reservation here for two on Christmas Eve, and I’ll make sure you get premium ad space during the exhibition.” 

Otogi’s eyes widened. “That’s a rather generous offer.” 

“And there are no strings attached. If you want, invite your bartender friend back over here to be our witness.” 

“She’s my girlfriend’s younger sister,” Otogi explained with a smile. “And I don’t think that’s quite necessary. Like I said, I haven’t seen you mentioned in any of the tabloids, and since everything I **do** read about Kaiba Corporation these days is generally positive, I think it’s okay to trust you.” 

“...That and there was that whole time when you saved my ass on the Battle Ship,” Mokuba mumbled under his breath. He didn’t care to think about **that** time too often, but he did distinctly remember his brother hauling him by the back of his vest and tossing him into Otogi’s outstretched arms from the ship’s gangplank. If Otogi hadn’t caught him—in the face, no less—it was more than likely that neither of them would be here now. 

“That’s right!” Otogi smiled, clapping a hand on his leg. “I had a bruise on my face after that, you know.” 

“I’m sure your insurance covered it,” Mokuba scowled, but it faded into a grin when he saw Otogi still smiling. 

A few moments later, Hashimoto emerged from the employee-only area, but before Mokuba could straighten up and talk to him, Otogi made a beeline for him and murmured something that Mokuba was too far away to hear. Mokuba watched in astonishment as Hashimoto’s eyes widened and he nodded several times before rushing back to the back room. 

Otogi shoved his hands in his pockets and swaggered back to Mokuba. “It’s done. Do you need my business card so we can have your people call my people in order to finalize the contracts?” 

Mokuba breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, it couldn’t hurt. It’ll be faster if I just call you, anyway.” 

“Just one question before you go, though,” Otogi said after flicking a thick black business card—with a silver embossed die as the logo—in Mokuba’s direction. “Who’s the reservation for, if not you? Don’t tell me your brother’s got someone he’s planning on popping the question to,” Otogi asked slyly. 

Mokuba almost burst into laughter then and there, but he swallowed the impulse after he caught a few patrons glancing his way. “No, I’m lucky if I can get Big Brother to stop working long enough to sleep, most days. The only dates he goes on are ones with his coffee maker and his office couch.” 

“Ouch,” Otogi said. “So who, then?” 

“Promise you won’t be mad?” Mokuba asked, wincing. He didn’t know how things left off between Honda and Otogi after they graduated high school, but last he checked, they were still intense rivals for Shizuka’s affection. Clearly Honda won out, but that could mean he’d destroyed the barest semblance of a friendship he had with Otogi in the process. 

“Mad? Who is it, Honda?” 

“Uh…” 

“It is, isn’t it?” Otogi frowned. “It’s fine, I’m happy for him.” Off Mokuba’s doubtful glance upward, he held his hands up in a defensive gesture. “No, really, I am.” He stared out the wrap-around windows to the Tokyo Bay, a faraway look in his eyes. 

“It **is** to Shizuka-chan, right?” Otogi clarified. “I swear to God, if that idiot broke up with her again—” 

“It is, it is!” Mokuba blurted. “He really wants to make it special, so he said he’s been saving up for dinner here and tickets to see _Millennium_ , but he just didn’t get around to buying them before all the reservations got booked up.” 

“Of course that’s what happened,” Otogi said with a sigh. He rolled his eyes. “My offer’s still good. I’ll talk to Erika and make sure it’s the best damn dinner that jerk will ever eat.” He didn’t sound angry though: not really. If anything, he said “jerk” in a sort of affectionate tone, like he missed the banter with Honda more than he did flirting with Shizuka. 

Mokuba chuckled. “Thank you, Otogi.” He hesitated, wondering if he should be using honorifics with people he’d never bothered to use them for in the past. Mai was one thing—he’d never really spoken to her before, and the respectful address—albeit appended to her given name—just came naturally. But Otogi had always been a closer member of Yuugi’s crew than even Mai had been, so he’d never gotten an honorific. 

“No problem, Mokuba.” 

He let out a sigh of relief; if Otogi wasn’t going to refer to him with an honorific, then he needn’t bother with one in reverse, especially since Otogi was his elder. His years in the United States made him rusty with his honorific use, especially since people here in Japan never knew how to refer to someone that was higher-up socially, but younger, like he was. He sure as hell didn’t want to be called “Kaiba-sama,” like his brother. Even “Mokuba-sama” was weird. 

“I’ll be in touch with you soon about the ad contract,” Mokuba said. “I should get going. Pretty sure getting back to Domino now will put me in traffic.” 

“That’s life in the big city, Mokuba!” Otogi called back. He sliced a hand through the air in a brief wave before heading back to the bar. “See you around.” 

Mokuba made his way out to the elevator bank before he deflated onto a bench nearby, the tension practically seeping out of his pores. 

“I can handle this, I can handle this…” 


	7. The Fourth Labor: Negotiate an Ad Contract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for my Google Translate romanized Arabic. Feel free to help me fix it, if you can!

**—Kaiba Corporation Headquarters, Domino—**

Mokuba didn’t need to handle it alone, as it turned out. Seto claimed that the “Goddess of Luck” had no love for him, but that day, she was on Mokuba’s side; one of the items on Seto’s to-do list was to finalize the ad contracts for the exhibition. 

Kaiba Corporation partnered with a limited number of companies to advertise related products and services during tournaments: Industrial Illusions, of course, but also Schroeder Corporation, various local game shops, and, much to Mokuba’s surprise, the Egyptian Archaeological Society. In fact, their premium ad contract was the only one that hadn’t been countersigned and approved by Legal yet. 

_This is perfect! But… what’s this all about, anyway? I thought Big Brother didn’t want anything to do with that ‘occult nonsense.’_

Seto had softened his stance on all things “impossible” midway through Battle City, but he wasn’t particularly vocal about it. But he’d never again visited the Domino Museum for the duration of the “Ancient Origins of _Duel Monsters_ ” exhibit, and since Atem’s “passing”—for lack of a better term—hadn’t returned to Egypt.

Mokuba pulled up the details of the ad contract and was surprised to see Seto had agreed to host a return of the _Duel Monsters_ exhibit at the Kaiba Hotel in town, with a special “interactive” tour at the different Kaiba Lands around the world. The interactive advertising at a Kaiba Land was what made the contract premium: it cost a great deal more to develop Solid Vision ads, but they tended to reach many more eyeballs, and make a greater impression.

“Blah, blah, blah, why haven’t they signed yet?” Mokuba scrolled through the document, looking for some kind of clue. Nothing.

Finally, at the bottom, where there was a flag for Isis to sign and a Kaiba Corporation representative to countersign, there were some phone numbers. After a little bit of mental math, Mokuba decided he could afford to call—it was about eight in the morning in Cairo, so Isis should be in her office, right?

_Ring, ring! Ring, ring!_

The phone kept ringing, and right when Mokuba was going to give up, a voice in Arabic answered: “ _As-salamu alaykum. Laqad wasalt 'iilaa jameiat al athar al misriat. La 'ahad…”_

“A voicemail? Really?”

Again and again, he rang each number on the list, successively getting one voicemail after another. Was it a holiday in Egypt, maybe? He didn’t understand a lick of Arabic though, so he wasn’t sure if the voicemail messages themselves offered any sort of clue, the way Mode’s atelier had.

One number remained, the one listed “in case of emergency.”

_Does this really qualify?_ Mokuba thought. _I mean, they’re the top sponsor for the exhibit, and we’re supposed to get everything finalized by the end of this week. If we don’t have the contract signed, we can’t go ahead with the Solid Vision setup, and then we’d have to renegotiate everything…._ Mokuba tapped a pen back and forth on his desk.

Seto’s patience was a mercurial thing, sometimes infinite, and sometimes shorter than a certain former King of Games. But it was different when it involved a bunch of other people and their jobs, Mokuba decided. This qualified as an emergency in **his** book, and that was all that mattered.

_I’m the acting CEO right now, after all, and I’m not willing to force people to work overnight just because I refused to make a phone call to follow up with a sponsor._

He dialed. After just two rings, a distant male voice answered. “ _As-salamu alaykum. Maa ismuka?"_

For a split second, Mokuba panicked, thinking he’d called someone else at the Society who might not speak Japanese—or English, or any other language Mokuba knew, for that matter. 

_How do they answer phones in Egypt, anyway? I mean, doesn’t everybody just say “Hello, who is this?”_

He had to chance it.

“Mokuba Kaiba,” he replied. There was a pause as something heavy slapped down on the other end of the line. There was a shuffling sound, and then the same voice responded, no longer sounding as though they were speaking in an empty hall.

“Mokuba-kun?”

_Oh, thank goodness, they speak Japanese! Wait, doesn’t that mean—_

“Yes, it’s me. Are you—”

“Malik. I should have looked at the caller ID and seen it was a Japanese number, but I was busy working on a loaf of bread. What can I help you with?”

Mokuba blinked in confusion. _Bread?_

“Uh, well this number was listed as a contact for the Egyptian Archaeological Society, and I’m calling to confirm the advertising contract we have for the exhibition near the end of next month. Isis still hasn’t signed, but we have a deadline to prepare the interactive Solid Vision elements, so…” Mokuba trailed off. He didn’t know whether Malik was involved with the Society at all, but if he was somewhere baking bread, he kind of doubted it.

_But who knows? Maybe he’s got a sourdough baking habit?_

Mokuba had a few friends back in the States that enjoyed making homemade fermented food like sourdough, yogurt, or kombucha. He’d never understood the hobby himself, finding it easier to just get something ready-made and enjoy eating it, but he never minded when someone wanted him to taste test something or otherwise give him free food.

There was another heavy slapping sound—Mokuba figured it had to be dough—and then a slight grunt. “Mokuba-kun, do you mind if we make this a video call? It would be easier for me.”

“No problem,” Mokuba answered. “What platform do you want me to call you back on?”

“I assume you have SV Messenger, being a Kaiba and all,” Malik replied. “I can call you back on that.”

“O–” and before he could get the other syllable out, the line disconnected. “–kay.”

Thirty seconds later, the Solid Vision ring projector mounted to the center of the ceiling swirled with rainbow colors and let out a pleasant chime.

“Incoming call from Malik Ishtar,” the Solid Vision AI—Mokuba had nicknamed it Mina, much to Seto’s annoyance—announced.

“Accept the call,” Mokuba replied, taking a deep breath. He’d never used the technology here in the office, but Seto often took advantage of it by virtually “attending” important meetings without ever leaving his desk.

A beam of light poured down from the ceiling, and suddenly, Malik Ishtar stood before him, the faint outline of a counter in front of him. While Honda sported a moustache and a five o’clock shadow, and Otogi had grown a full beard, Malik looked largely unchanged from the last time Mokuba had seen him at the Ceremonial Duel. Sure, his hair was shorter and his shoulders broader, and he’d dropped all the gold accessories, but other than that…

“I’ve gotta say, I’m surprised you suggested SV Messenger,” Mokuba started. “I didn’t think it had gotten widespread adoption yet.”

“I got the system as part of a ViewTube pilot program with Kaiba Corporation’s media division,” Malik explained, looking down at his countertop and pushing something with his hands. “I’ve been playing with it the past few weeks, so it just seemed more convenient.”

Mokuba furrowed his brows. He vaguely remembered attending a meeting where the PR department talked about partnering with top ViewTubers to promote SV Messenger as an all-new three-dimensional way of communicating and sharing content, now that the company had smaller devices capable of projecting Solid Vision.

“You’re a ViewTuber?”

Malik glanced up, a slight grin creasing his face. “Have you heard of _Leavens of the Levant_?”

Mokuba gaped. “That hugely successful baking channel where you only ever see the guy from the neck down? That’s **you**?”

“I wanted to distance myself from the Gravekeeper’s Clan, after what I did,” Malik said with a sigh, pressing his hands deeper into the dough he was working. “And I certainly had no desire to return to the world of dueling. I’ve been baking for a dozen years, and since I was posting my content on Arabic, Japanese, and English sites, I started getting people asking for more details about the things I was baking, or how I made them look a certain way. Answering each individual comment got tedious, so I thought, ‘why not film myself doing baking?’ And that’s how it all started.”

“That’s…” Mokuba swallowed. He still remembered what it felt like, being bound and hung out of a helicopter door, the only thing keeping him from certain death one of Malik's “Rare Hunter” Ghouls holding the other end of the rope. “...awesome. Really incredible.”

Malik stopped working the dough for a moment and looked up. “I never apologized to you, Mokuba-kun, for the harm I inflicted on you and your brother. I know that an apology isn’t really enough, but… for what it’s worth, I am truly very sorry.”

Mokuba shifted his jaw. It was all too easy to close his eyes and go back to that day, back to when he’d struggled against his bonds until his skin bled, back to getting tossed like a ragdoll into a pile of cardboard boxes. And then there’d been Anzu, who didn’t care that he was the younger brother of her best friend’s enemy, or that Mokuba himself had stolen Yuugi’s Star Chips back on Pegasus’ island, or any of that. She just saw **him** , another victim of Malik’s, a person in need of help, and she’d helped him escape.

And Malik had turned her into his puppet, and forced her to watch Jounouchi and Yuugi nearly battle to the death.

He swallowed an acidic lump that had formed in his throat. He thought he’d done a damn good job processing all this, especially with his involvement in _Millennium_. But maybe he needed to do something other than putting on a condensed version of the events of Atem’s second life—in musical form, no less—to really move on from everything that happened back then. 

_Maybe that’s why Anzu looked so exhausted before._

“I—” Mokuba began. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. “It’s in the past, right?” He let out a weak chuckle.

“You and I both know that our past shapes who we are as individuals. What’s that line from your show, ‘Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?’ isn’t it?” 

Mokuba chuckled. “I knew you signed off on your likeness getting used for _Millennium_ , but I didn’t know you’d seen it.”

“I haven’t, unfortunately, but I did purchase the soundtrack as soon as it became available here in Egypt,” Malik smiled. “I like listening to it when I have a long wait during post-production, or when I’m cleaning up after a video.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mokuba smiled back, feeling a weight lift off his chest. “So, about the contract…”

“As I mentioned, I’m afraid I don’t have any affiliation with the Egyptian Archaeological Society,” Malik began. “And my sister and Rishid are presently away on a dig. In all likelihood, they have no reception whatsoever where they’re at, which is why no one on your list answered your call.”

“Yeah, that does explain it,” Mokuba said with a sigh. “I’m kind of at something of an impasse. Did you know about the _Duel Monsters_ exhibit returning to Japan in time for our big exhibition next month?”

“I believe Isis may have mentioned it at one of our weekly dinners, yes,” Malik replied. “And you said earlier that this is an advertising contract relating to that event?”

“Exactly, and I not only need Isis-san’s sign-off so we can get to work building the interactive advertising elements that will go inside the exhibit, but I’m hoping to renegotiate a portion of the advertising to cover a last-minute sponsor that I think supplements everything really well.” 

“Oh?” Malik asked, going back to working his dough. “Who’s the sponsor?”

Mokuba pulled on his earlobe and chuckled under his breath. “Eheh… it’s Studio Dice. Otogi’s company.”

Malik raised his eyebrows. “I should have guessed that was him. A friend of mine who runs a gaming channel is really excited about their upcoming game. Something about dragons and lasers?”

“Yeah, that’s one of them. It’s called _Dragon vs. Dragon_ , I think, and uses the Blue-Eyes and the Red-Eyes to shoot or block lasers, and your goal is to get your laser to your opponent’s side of the board first.”

“So I’m assuming the connection is with the dragons depicted on the different tablets, then?”

“I guess so. Truthfully…” Mokuba took a deep breath. “Truthfully, I’m doing it for him as a favor, because I needed to get a reservation at a restaurant on Christmas Eve, and his girlfriend happens to be the sous chef there.”

Malik’s eyes widened slightly. “ **You** couldn’t get a reservation somewhere? What happened to the Kaiba brothers being able to do anything?”

Mokuba let out a wry laugh. “In Domino, maybe, but in Tokyo on Christmas Eve?”

“Why Christmas Eve, if you don’t mind me asking?”

_Would he be more willing to talk to Isis and get her to renegotiate the contract if I told him everything? Or…_

“It’s for another friend,” Mokuba said. “Who’s also helping me out with another project, which happens to be for a different person who’s helping me for another thing, for someone who’s helping me get a really, really special present for Seto’s birthday.”

“Sounds like you’ve got yourself quite the predicament,” Malik commented. “As I said, I know after all this time, an apology isn’t enough. I can’t sign any contracts on the Society’s behalf, but I **can** talk to Isis.”

“Really?” Mokuba asked. “I mean, you said you have weekly dinners with her, so maybe you haven’t met up this week and you can just bring it up then?”

Malik nodded. “I will. But…” He glanced off to the side, frowning slightly. “I’ve been doing my best these past several years to make up for all the lives I disrupted. The money from my channel helps with that now, but I still feel like I owe my Rishid and my sister a debt greater than any amount will ever repay. I… I hate asking them for anything.”

“I get it,” Mokuba said, sighing deeply. “But think about it from the other end, right? You’ve got these family members who care about you a lot, and they want to see you happy and successful. But if you don’t tell them what **you** need, like more time together, or a break from work, or help with something, then they’ll never know. They’ll think you don’t want them around.”

That certainly lined up with Seto’s behavior, most of the time. That his big brother had agreed to go on a one-week vacation before the big exhibition next month was nothing short of a miracle, in Mokuba’s book.

Malik was quiet for a moment. “You really would do anything for your brother, wouldn’t you?”

Mokuba nodded in the affirmative. “Just like I know Isis-san and Rishid-san would do for you. And I think you want to do the same for them, right? So what’ll let you spend time with them, take a break from your channel, and help them, too?”

Malik inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. For a second, Mokuba thought the Solid Vision program froze, as the man before him looked as still as a statue. But then he exhaled and opened his eyes, a warm smile stretching across his face.

“Snow,” he murmured. “I think we would like to see snow.”

Mokuba squinted in confusion, not quite sure he’d understood Malik. “S-Snow? As in the white stuff that falls in winter?”

“Perhaps in Japan,” Malik said with a chuckle, “But with climate change, the closest we’ve ever gotten here in Egypt is sleet on our streets, maybe a few near-freezing nights. And on my...journeys around the world, I never stayed in a place long enough to see any. I don’t believe my sister or Rishid have ever experienced it, either.”

“Well then, how about a trade?” Mokuba proposed. He knew, in the back of his mind, he was just adding one more task onto his neverending to-do list, but this just seemed like the right thing to do. Malik seemed to genuinely want to make up for his time as the leader of the criminal gang of Rare Hunters and vicious Ghouls, but he hadn’t set aside any time for **himself** to think about things. Instead he just made do with busywork.

_Just like Seto,_ Mokuba realized.

Mokuba licked his lips as he contemplated his next words. “I’ll arrange for some kind of snowy vacation for your family. A week somewhere nice and cold. And in return—”

“I’ll ask my sister about renegotiating the ad contract.”

“Yeah. What do you think?”

“I would…” Malik paused, looking down at his hands. “I would like that very much, Mokuba-kun. And I thank you. It’s more than I feel I deserve from you.”

“Hey, like you said, it’s in the past. I’m– I’m not a really big grudge holder. It just sucks all the life out of you to stay angry all the time. And it pushes the people you love away.” 

Mokuba fiddled with a pen, absently twirling it between his fingers. There were times when he thought his brother’s obsession with Yuugi—Atem, really—would result in an inevitable tragedy that separated them forever. He was grateful when Seto agreed to focus on opening more Kaiba Lands around the world and stopped trying to duel Yuugi at every opportunity. 

“I never thought of it like this when I was younger, but I guess we have more in common than we realized, huh?” Mokuba looked up at Malik, surprised to find the young man squeezing his eyes shut. “Are you okay?”

Malik opened his eyes, surprising Mokuba when a stray tear traced its way down his cheek. “We do, Mokuba-kun. And thank you for asking. I think… I think I **will** be okay.”

“Glad to hear it. Well…”

Malik sucked in a breath and rubbed a hand across his face. “Go ahead and send me the new contract through SV Messenger. I’ll make sure I discuss it with Isis and she signs it before the end of the week. I’ll look forward to hearing from you about the vacation. And thank you, again.”

Mokuba waved his hands in front of his face a few times. “It’s no big deal, really. You’re actually helping **me** out a lot, you know, and it’s not even your job. Here I am calling you at what’s probably the buttcrack of the morning over there and interrupting your world-famous breadmaking.”

Malik let out a genuine laugh. “I’ve been up for several hours now, but I appreciate the thought.”

“I’ll send you the contract now.” Mokuba swiped his hands over his virtual keyboard and watched as a small progress bar appeared, filled, and vanished over Malik’s head.

“File sent,” the AI Mina confirmed. 

“Did you get it?” Mokuba asked.

Malik looked down and nodded once. “Yes, thank you. Again.”

“Thank **you** , Malik-san,” he said softly. “Words I thought I’d never say.”

“Words I never thought I’d deserve to hear. Have a blessed day, Mokuba-kun.”

“You as well.”

And then Malik disappeared, and Mokuba was alone in his office once more.


	8. The Fifth Labor: Organize an Icy Excursion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, I apologize in advance for what is probably a sorry attempt at a language I do not know. This time it's German. Blame Google Translate.

_So, T-minus eight days to get all of this ironed out,_ Mokuba thought. _Arrange for a vacation for the Ishtars so I can get Isis to concede some of the ad contract to Otogi so I can get the reservation for Honda so I can get Mai her car so I can get Anzu her dress so I can get the libretto for Pegasus so I can get the paintings for Seto._

It was exhausting just thinking about it. It’d be easier—for now at least—to get back to the more mundane tasks at hand, which included getting in touch with the last few Pro Duelists or their agents, and contacting either Schroeder or Leonhart about whether or not they’d **really** be attending this exhibition.

_It’s still too early to call anyone in Germany_ , Mokuba realized, glancing at the media wall, with its panels of televisions featuring news tickers and clocks from around the world. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning there yet, and if Siegfried was anything like he had been some years ago, he preferred to take his sweet time in the morning: luxuriating in a rose-scented bath, enjoying a twelve-course breakfast, and taking the scenic route to the Schroeder Corporation headquarters.

Thankfully, most of the duelists Mokuba had yet to contact were Japan-based, so getting in touch with them would be no hassle—provided he called them within the next few hours before the official workday—or Duel Academia schedule, as it were—ended. But that didn’t help him any with deciphering his brother’s shorthand for the specific duelists he needed to confirm.

“Hey, Isono?” Mokuba pressed a button on his phone and glanced out toward where Isono sat, diligently doing whatever it was that executive assistants did on a day-to-day basis.

“Yes, Mokuba-sama?” Isono asked. 

“Can you get me the names of all the rankings from the recent Genex Tournament over at Duel Academia? I think some of the names might overlap with this list of Pro Duelists Seto left with me, but I can’t make out his shorthand otherwise.”

“Of course, sir. Please give me one moment and I’ll send you the file now.”

A second later and the AI Mina spoke in a cheerful tone, “New file received.”

Mokuba didn’t bother replying to the AI vocally; he just swung his chair toward the monitor and tapped the “Open” button on-screen.

“Okay, fine, so literally **half** of these names make sense now that I can see the duelists, but how the heck was I supposed to know who R.O△, KKid or Math were?!” Mokuba groaned. “Bro, how do you keep track of all this stuff?”

One of these days, Mokuba thought, he’d check the back of his brother’s neck and confirm he didn’t secretly have a USB port there.

Two hours later, Mokuba made his way through the entire list of names—except for the only one that didn’t correspond to a name on the Genex Tournament list.

_KJ, KJ...who the heck is KJ?_

Mokuba’s attention was slipping; his eyes kept stinging in that weird way they did right before he was about to collapse face-first into his arms and fall asleep drooling onto the desk. He shook his head rapidly a few times to try and clear the sensation.

_Focus, focus! You’re almost done!_

Maybe he could reward himself with a nice cup of coffee from the stall downstairs. Maybe he could even talk to that cute barista again. After all, what Seto didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

_I’m doing all this for him, anyway!_ Mokuba remembered, scowling. He couldn’t remember the last time his brother had attended any kind of celebration for **him**. He went to big ticket events strictly to rub shoulders with other executives, and then he left. He didn’t make small talk, he didn’t wine and dine, and he sure as **hell** didn’t dance. He didn’t celebrate his birthday. They never talked about their birth parents’ deaths. He never even accepted awards on behalf of Kaiba Corporation, even though Mokuba was sure—absolutely, positive, in the core of his soul sure—that those kinds of events were the type Seto would enjoy.

He’d just… grown out of it, Mokuba supposed. No different from how Mokuba himself had grown out of some of his habits from when he was younger.

_Like riding on Seto’s coattails._

Not long after Egypt, Seto insisted on increasingly more “alone” time. Mokuba pressed him—tried to get him to talk, to at least spend some time together, even if it was just reading in the same room, but Seto just… couldn’t handle it. And he outright refused to go to a therapist, or see a grief counselor, something Mokuba personally thought they should have done years ago. In fact, he’d made a point of talking to a therapist at least once a month in junior high; he just covered it up with other “meetings” or school events. Seto never bothered to ask him for details, so Mokuba never told him.

So while Seto was busy grieving in his way, Mokuba had to find other things to do, other people to hang out with. People at Kaiba Corporation had no problem with Mokuba asking for projects to work on, and in fact, seemed to relish the idea of a young helper, eager to learn the ins and outs of the company’s inner workings.

_I guess it makes sense then, why Seto always had me go to those big events where Kaiba Corporation won something._

Winning no longer sparked any joy in Seto, not if it wasn’t a duel against the only person he’d ever considered a true rival. But that didn’t mean Seto stopped challenging himself, or finding new “impossible” things to do before breakfast each morning. And Mokuba was sure he was proud of the company and all its workers who helped make each award possible, from the Good Design Award to the Deming Prize. His pride was just… a little less outrageous, these days.

_“I wonder which of you has changed more, over the years,”_ Mokuba remembered Pegasus musing aloud. In other words, it wasn’t a question of **if** they had changed, but how much. Mokuba knew he had; he knew Anzu had. And over the past few days, he saw the changes in Mai, in Honda, in Otogi, and even in Malik.

_If anyone’s the same, it’s probably Jounouchi—_ Mokuba smiled at the thought, and then he stared at the list in front of him.

_KJ—Katsuya Jounouchi?! No way! Big Brother’s inviting him to the exhibition?_

Maybe Seto had changed the most out of them all.

A few seconds later, Mokuba confirmed that indeed, Jounouchi achieved his dream of becoming a Pro Duelist. He wasn’t number one anywhere, but he was high-ranking in multiple Pro Leagues, including Western Europe, for some reason.

_Is that a typo?_ Well, there was one way to find out: there was a number listed for Jounouchi—not an agent or manager, but directly to Jounouchi.

_There’s probably a story there, too,_ Mokuba thought. Could Jounouchi really have made it so far in the Pro Leagues without a manager? Since he had official Kaiba Corporation business, Mokuba had no issue using his desk phone to call the number listed.

It rang, rang, and rang—and Mokuba was about to hang up, when he heard a click and then a high-pitched, tinny ring, followed by a voice announcing _“Die von Ihnen gewählte Nummer wird weitergeleitet. Warten Sie mal,”_ followed by—to the surprise of absolutely no one—crackly music. Only this time it was Eurobeat, which Mokuba could at least tolerate for a minute or two.

“Who’s calling?” a sleepy voice slurred, half into the phone and half into what was probably a pillow. “‘S too early, call back in an hour!”

And before Mokuba could get a word in edgewise, Jounouchi hung up on him.

_T–That Jounouchi!_ Mokuba tightened his jaw. Wasn’t he supposed to be a lauded Pro Duelist, ranking internationally, even in—

_Wait a second. That automated voice was German. And the music was probably German Eurobeat, too. Didn’t Honda say something about…_

_“...I need the car by the time Mai gets back from Paris,”_ Mokuba remembered telling Honda earlier that day.

_“Paris? Not Germany?”_

At the time, Mokuba thought it strange that Honda assumed Mai was in Germany. Honda never seemed to warm to her—not at any point when Mokuba was around, at least—and after her public falling-out with Jounouchi, her retirement from Pro Dueling was headline news, at least in the tabloids and on duelist gossip blogs. So why had he thought that Mai would be in the same country as Jounouchi? 

_That can’t be a coincidence._

Mai hadn’t answered when Mokuba told her he thought she and Jounouchi would find their way back to each other someday, either. And though Honda had flippantly called Jounouchi a “mutual acquaintance” these days, with how rarely he heard from him, Mokuba doubted their friendship had fallen entirely by the wayside.

Mokuba’s fingers flew across the virtual keyboard, window after window popping up with the latest information about Katsuya Jounouchi, Pro Duelist: current ranking in the top three in Western Europe in the international division; a guest of—

_No way, Schroeder Corporation!_

“What the heck— Schroeder went and established his own tournament? Does Big Brother know about this?”

Three clicks later and Mokuba found an English version of the press release on Schroeder Corporation’s website:

_Munich, Germany (September 9, 20XX) – For thousands of Duelists from throughout the European Union, it all comes down to this: one final showdown to decide who will represent Europe at the 20XX_ Duel Monsters _World Championship! On September 23 – 27, Schroeder Corporation, in partnership with Industrial Illusions, is proud to return to the Conference Center Haus der Bayerischen Wirtschaft in Munich, Germany, where the toughest Duelists from around the world will be in attendance to compete in the Schroeder Alpine Rose Cup, a World Championship Qualifying tournament (WCQ). The Alpine Rose Cup is unique in that it gives Duelists the opportunity to face-off against top-ranking Pro Duelists from the International League ahead of the World Championship…_

If there was no such thing as coincidences, then the Goddess of Luck was **definitely** on Mokuba’s side that day. He could finish contacting all the Pro League Duelists invited to the exhibition, confirm whether the Schroeders really weren’t coming, **and** maybe, just maybe, he could finagle a wintery excursion for the Ishtars, too.

* * *

**—Kaiba Hotel, Domino—**

Mokuba’s yawn stretched his mouth open so wide, his eyes started to tear up. He’d given himself permission to leave Kaiba Corporation, at least, but he was too tired to drive, so he had a towncar take him to the nearest Kaiba Hotel. Once there, he ambled in through the revolving door and waved tiredly at the front desk staff before making his way to the penthouse suite’s private elevator.

The elevator just passed the 25th floor when Mokuba realized that he could **finally** call Jounouchi, as more than an hour elapsed since he’d last tried calling. He brought out his phone and scrolled to the entry he’d made in his internet calling app: the letters KJ, followed by a string of yellow-and-green V-shaped “Beginner Drivers’ Marks.” 

_Big Brother would appreciate that. Even if he probably hasn’t spoken to Jounouchi in years, he probably still thinks of him as an amateur._

And if Seto could come up with weird shorthand for people, then so could Mokuba.

_Except for Anzu. She got furious when I showed her the contact entry I made for her on my phone that one time…_

Years ago, when he first met up with Anzu shortly after getting accepted at Stanford—and wanting to see as much of the States as he could before school started—he’d input her New York phone number into his address book. He’d seen other people using emoji outside of actual messages: putting them in notes, adding them to social media posts, and using them to give “nicknames” of a sort to their friends and family. 

Mokuba thought since Anzu meant “apricot,” he’d choose a fruit emoji that more or less resembled one, which ended up being a peach. And since her surname “Mazaki” translated to “true”—which, really, how was he supposed to come with an emoji for something as indescribable as “truth” anyway?—and “promontory,” or a peninsula, he went with the closest shape to a peninsula, which was the eggplant emoji. But since he wouldn’t necessarily know that it was meant to refer to a land mass and not an actual eggplant, he added the little “drops of water” character. When Mokuba handed her his phone to confirm that he’d gotten her number right, she’d taken one look at his “nickname” for her and turned the color of a ripe tomato, and demanded—not asked, **demanded** —he change it, and never, ever, ever use those three emoji in conjunction with her ever again.

Newly 18-year-old Mokuba hadn’t wanted to rock the proverbial boat with his only “friend” in the States, so he’d readily agreed—and only understood why months later, when he met his roommates at Stanford and they’d explained what the three characters **really** meant.

_Anyone who thinks of Anzu as just a “booty call” is an idiot,_ Mokuba thought. And so Anzu’s name—and only her name—stayed in Mokuba’s address book throughout his years at Stanford, across multiple phones and email addresses, all the way to now.

Earlier, Anzu had told him not to “put on his charm,” making it abundantly clear that while they were definitely good friends and business associates, it wouldn’t ever be more than that. Not after their last attempt at it, anyway.

_Who am I kidding, it wasn’t “our” attempt, it was mine. I had been crushing on Anzu for years, and after that cheating scandal with Eric, I figured I could be there for her, make her see I was a way better choice._

But it turned out being a rebound guy—even one fully aware walking into the “relationship” that he was a rebound guy—wasn’t so fun, after all. 

There were more reasons why it could never work out than reasons why it could, least of which being that Anzu never really seemed to see him as anything **more** than a younger brother-type. Then there was that minor detail of Seto expecting 21-year-old Mokuba Kaiba, MBA to return home to Japan immediately after the conclusion of his VP training in San Francisco. Oh, and Grammy and Tony-award winning Anzu opting to leave New York for good and instead join the new touring cast of _Millennium_.

“Am I going to seriously end up calling Jounouchi, of all people, just so we can bitch about the sorry state of our love lives?” Mokuba groaned and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair in frustration. 

_That’s what I should tell Big Brother about banning me from dating anybody at the company. If I never get the chance to meet anyone from anywhere else, I’m going to end up calling Jounouchi to complain, because it’s not like_ Seto’s _got any experience!_

At least, none that Mokuba knew about. But Seto was nothing if not the master of secrets, right? He hadn’t so much as texted Mokuba over the past few days, which, even taking into account Mokuba’s mandate for Seto to leave all his tech behind, seemed unreal. For all Mokuba knew, he was sitting in a basement cave somewhere monitoring everything happening at Kaiba Corporation via a secret satellite uplink. He hadn’t had the chance to find out just where Seto was “vacationing,” if anywhere.

_Isono probably knows, though._ That man knew everything. Which was why Mokuba couldn’t risk him—or anybody at Kaiba Corporation—knowing about the call he was about to make. Even if Seto basically **asked** him to call Jounouchi to confirm his attendance at the exhibition, Mokuba had other reasons for getting in touch with him now.

What was it, 11:30 a.m. in Germany by now? Surely even if Jounouchi had an all-night bender celebrating some big dueling win, he’d be up by **now** , right? He tapped the contact entry and waited for the familiar ringing followed by the German voice saying something—Mokuba didn’t know what.

“Hey, this is Jounouchi—”

For a split second, Mokuba thought he’d somehow gotten Jounouchi’s voicemail. But then the same voice said, “Hello?” in Japanese, and then a second later, “Hallo?” in what Mokuba took to be Jounouchi’s attempt at German.

“Jounouchi, it’s Mokuba Kaiba,” Mokuba said in Japanese.

“Machst du Witze?” Jounouchi sounded incredulous. 

“I don’t speak any German, so I have no idea what you just said. But it’s not a prank call, I am Mokuba Kaiba.”

“Oh really?” Jounouchi asked, switching back to Japanese, his voice in a sing-song. “Well Mokuba Kaiba would know...er, uh… would know how many Star Chips he stole off Yuugi back in Duelist Kingdom!”

Mokuba smacked a palm to his head. “Seriously, dude? That was almost 15 years ago! Ugh… it was two! I wagered five and I took two!” And then stupid Saruwatari had knocked the Chips he’d swiped—from Yuugi and from another Duelist on the island—into the ocean, setting into motion the painful chain of events that followed. Even if Pegasus had mellowed out some over the years, Mokuba still didn’t like to think about it.

“Huh, it really is you. What’s up, Mokuba?”

“I heard you’re dueling in Germany as a guest of the Schroeder family,” Mokuba began slowly, still trying to force the memories of Duelist Kingdom out of his brain.

“Well yeah, I **am** the Japanese rep for the International League, in case that was news to you,” Jounouchi said, and Mokuba could just picture him, preening and posing in that “humble-brag” way of his.

It **had** been news to Mokuba as of earlier today, but he wasn’t about to tell Jounouchi that. He needed to have the upper hand here.

“No, I know, but I wasn’t sure if you received the invite for next month’s exhibition at Kaiba Land here in Japan.”

“Hm? Ah yeah, probably. Was it emailed or somethin’? I haven’t had much of a chance to check these days…”

“Yes, but we tried to mail formal invites, too. Though I guess if you were on your way to Germany when we sent them out, you might not have gotten yours that way, either,” Mokuba explained. The elevator dinged and he walked into the penthouse suite, making a beeline for the plush recliner in the windowed corner that overlooked Domino’s east side.

“Well, I’ll be there, at any rate,” Jounouchi added. “Was that why you called? Kaiba’s got you doin’ secretary stuff now?”

Mokuba scowled at the phone. “Actually, I’m acting CEO at the moment, and Seto would be doing this himself too, if he weren’t on vacation.”

“What, whaaat? Did I just step into some alternate reality where Seto freakin’ Kaiba takes **vacations** ?” Jounouchi crowed. It sounded like he was doubled over in laughter and slapping his thighs, and after a moment, a distant German voice piped into the conversation, clearly asking some sort of question. 

Jounouchi’s voice became muffled, clearly replying in German before turning his attention back to the phone call.

“Leon wants to know if you got his RSVP yet. He says he’s gonna be at the exhibition, too, but Siggy’s stayin’ home because of a lecture given by this famous Professor Zweinstein on Duel Physics or something.”

_Leonhart’s coming to the exhibition? Is “Siggy”...? And what the heck is Duel Physics?_

It didn’t matter how exhausted he was; Mokuba had to think fast and react. “Good to hear. I’ll check you both off my list then. But since when are you so close to the Schroeders, anyway?”

“Eh, we crossed paths a bit while I was on my first European tour,” Jounouchi responded. “Dueled a few times, mostly for show, but a few times for fun, too.”

Mokuba blinked, sure he was hearing wrong. “You… dueled Siegfried von Schroeder—this is the guy that wiped the floor with you at the KC Grand Prix a while back—for fun?”

“We both mellowed out over the years,” Jounouchi chuckled. “Siggy’s a cool guy. Don’t tell him I told you his nickname, though. He’ll probably strangle me with one of his ascots.” 

_Well, if Jounouchi_ has _changed after all, at least I know that Siegfried’s fashion sense hasn’t?_ Maybe Pegasus and von Schroeder had the same tailor.

“I won’t,” Mokuba said with a laugh. He might tell Seto, though, if just to see the look on his face. 

His eyes flicked to a rather stereotypical print of a snow-capped Mount Fuji hanging in a gaudy frame above the suite’s enclosed fireplace. The reminder of his secondary mission sobered Mokuba right away. 

“But I do have one other thing to ask you…”

“Yeah? Go for it.”

“I’m helping some friends out”—Mokuba had no idea how Jounouchi would react to the fact that it was Malik that Mokuba was assisting, but he doubted it would be with nonchalance—“And they’ve never been to a snowy region. Since you’re already a guest of the Schroeders, maybe you could help me ask them for some special arrangements...”

“What, like a ski vacation? Who the heck’s never seen snow? Where are they from, the Sahara Desert?”

Mokuba’s mouth fell open in the shape of a small ‘o.’

“Uh… maybe…”

“Wait, really?” Jounouchi hummed into the phone. “Is it the Ishtars?”

Mokuba deflated back into the recliner, thrusting the footrest out. He shifted the phone from one ear to another and sighed.

“Yeah. He’s helping me out with another thing I’ve got going on, and I’m just helping him catch a break, because he’s way busy with his ViewTube channel. And Isis-san and Rishid-san are always away on digs for the Egyptian Archaeological Society.”

“A ViewTuber, huh? Never would’ve thought. Then again, I’m only really subscribed to Pro Duelin’ channels, so I guess it makes sense I wouldn’t’ve seen him. Waitasec, that means he’s not doin’ Duel Monsters stuff?”

“Nope. Says he’s trying to make up for...everything,” Mokuba said slowly. “He’s actually got a pretty popular trilingual baking channel.”

“Waitasec, did you say ‘baking’ channel?” Jounouchi spluttered. “Like cakes and cookies and stuff?”

“More like bread, most of the time, but yeah. It’s called _Leavens of the Levant._ ” 

_This is Jounouchi, the guy who’s blunter than a rusty spoon. If he can be straight with me, I can be straight with him, too._ He’d already seemed unfazed by the idea of Mokuba helping out Malik, and only mildly surprised at the idea of Malik being a popular ViewTuber. Mokuba took a deep breath and spoke again. 

“So...can you help? It’d be weird if I tried to ask the Schroeders myself, and while I **could** get a travel agency to arrange something, I think it makes more sense for them to have locals show them the slopes, so to speak.”

Jounouchi hummed into the phone again. “Hmm, hmm, never had a Kaiba ask me for a favor before. What to do, what to do?”

Exhausted by the day’s activities, Mokuba blurted the first thing that came to mind that he knew Jounouchi would definitely want: “We’ll let you debut the new Duel Disk.”

“Done,” Jounouchi replied immediately. “You better hold up your end of the bargain, though.”

“I will, I will—” Mokuba started, but Jounouchi started yelling down what was probably some opulent marble hallway at the Schroeder estate—one of them, anyway.

“...helfen, einen Skiurlaub für ein paar Freunde einzurichten, Leon?”

_Jounouchi’s German is actually pretty good, isn’t it?_ Better than Mokuba’s own, at any rate. He had no idea what Jounouchi was asking Leonhart.

A moment later, a softer voice came on the phone, one that Mokuba hadn’t heard in years: Leonhart von Schroeder, formerly known as Leon Wilson, young Duel Monsters prodigy.

“Mokuba-san? It’s Leon,” he said, effortlessly switching from rapidfire German to Japanese. “I’m happy to host any friends of yours and show them the slopes, but I was hoping I might get some of your time during the exhibition to discuss a possible entertainment joint venture I’m considering.”

“No problem,” Mokuba agreed readily. “But you don’t have to call me Mokuba-san. We’re basically the same age, aren’t we? And besides, Seto’s been planning almost all of this himself, which means I have basically nothing to do during the exhibition. It’s no trouble at all.” 

Seto might just change his mind, though, if he deemed all the work Mokuba was doing this week as a “successful” trial run of Mokuba as acting CEO. 

_Would Big Brother really be all that happy to give me more responsibilities? How does Leonhart deal with Siegfried?_

All the more reason to talk with him during the exhibition.

“Excellent! Just make sure you or your friends give me about 48 hours notice for when they’d like to come to Germany, and I can host them for a week or two here at our Bavarian estate.”

_Which one is that, the castle in the mountains, the countryside château, or the multi-storey penthouse in Munich?_ Mokuba wondered absently. 

Unlike Seto and Mokuba, who’d “only” inherited the Kaiba name from their adopted father, self-made industrialist Gozaburo Kaiba, the Schroeder name was steeped in history: they were distantly related to royalty, Mokuba remembered hearing. That meant they had numerous properties scattered throughout Germany and the rest of Europe, if not around the world. 

As for the last two Kaibas on the planet, Seto had unloaded the former Kaiba Mansion—site of too many bad memories to count—as soon as Mokuba moved to California for college, and switched to a ritzy apartment in the center of Domino. It wasn’t exactly close to Kaiba Corporation’s headquarters, but supposedly Seto just stayed at the Kaiba Hotel penthouse—or worse, on the sofa in his office—when he worked late. Once Mokuba returned to Japan, Seto didn’t bother clearing out the room he’d been using as his home office: he just bought the apartment below his own and told Mokuba to do with it what he pleased.

If Seto had his fingers in any other real estate pies outside of Kaiba Corporation properties, Mokuba didn’t know about it.

“Mokuba-kun?” Leonhart’s voice brought Mokuba back to reality.

“Yeah, I’m here, sorry about that,” Mokuba apologized. “It’s been a long day here.”

“Understandable,” Leon said. “I’ll hand the phone back to Jounouchi-san now.”

_Jounouchi-san?!_ The formal honorific appended to one Katsuya Jounouchi nearly boggled Mokuba’s mind. He didn’t know anyone who referred to him that way. Not his little sister, not his friends, not Mai...

_Speaking of which…_

“Hey, Jounouchi, did you get a chance to see Mai-san on her way to Paris?”

Jounouchi was so quiet that, if it hadn’t been for the sound of some distant German news report echoing through the line, Mokuba would have thought the call disconnected.

“...Nah. We just missed each other, I guess.”

Mokuba frowned. He doubted it was something as simple as “two ships passing in the night” or some nonsense. But he was far from being in a place to give romantic advice to Jounouchi.

“Oh. Well, I, uh—”

“Hey wait a minute, how’d **you** know she was in Paris?” Jounouchi broke in.

“She works for Kaiba Corporation’s fashion liaison, Jacques Mode,” Mokuba explained. “I was at Paris Fashion Week—” he said casually, making it sound like he’d intended to be there the whole time, and went to each and every show— “And we just ran into each other.”

“Right, right, you go to one of the biggest events in the entire city of Paris and you just ‘run into each other,’ sure. What kinda scam are you pullin’, Mokuba Kaiba?”

“No scam!” Mokuba assured Jounouchi. “Seriously, I was there to meet someone else to arrange for a fitting and get myself a nice suit. Something that wouldn’t make me look like Seto at the exhibition.”

Jounouchi snickered. “Please tell me he’s not wearing an upgraded version of his Battle City suit **again**.”

Mokuba groaned. “No, thank God. I convinced him to sacrifice it to Mode so he could use it as the basis for our next wearables line. It should be out of commission for at least six months.”

“Too bad you couldn’t have it sent to Honda for him to rip it into shreds and stuff it into the seat of some imported car,” Jounouchi said.

“Hey, speaking of which, you should call him. He says he hasn’t heard from you in ages.”

“Wait, what, first Mai, now Honda? What next, are you gonna tell me **you’re** best buds with Anzu, and you’ve got weekly coffee dates with Yuugi?”

“No, of course not,” Mokuba said with a mild laugh. He was grateful this wasn’t an SV Messenger call where Jounouchi could see the sweat building on his forehead. “You know Yuugi doesn’t drink coffee.”

“Dammit, Mokuba!” 

“It was a joke, a joke!” Even though Yuugi really didn’t drink coffee, and Mokuba knew that because, well…

“No, I had to help someone with a car thing, and so I ended up talking to Honda, that’s all.”

_For some reason, I don’t think it’s a good idea to say I was helping Mai out…_ Mokuba thought. He wasn’t quite sure what Jounouchi felt about the older woman now. It had been years since their falling-out, and it seemed like they’d run into each other at least a few times, but….

“How’s he doin’, anyway? Treatin’ my little sister right?”

“Uh…” Mokuba paused. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you.”

“What the **hell** is that supposed to mean? You better ‘fess up or I’m flyin’ back early and I’m going to hunt you down.”

Mokuba believed him.

“Honda’s fine, really! He’s like, district manager or something of the import export place. And… and he’s going to propose to Shizuka this Christmas.”

“Oh. I already knew all that.”

“ **What?** Then why the heck did you make it sound like you were going to rip me a new one?” Mokuba yelled. “You’re saying Honda told you?”

Jounouchi made a noncommittal noise. “I almost killed him when I found out they’d been sleepin’ together, and I told him then and there that he better break up with her or propose. That was sometime last year, I think, and since I haven’t gotten a sobbing phone call from my little sis, I figured he was manning up sooner rather than later.”

Mokuba almost smacked his forehead into his palm again. “You call threatening Honda into proposing to Shizuka ‘manning up’? What does that say about you, Mr. On-Again, Off-Again Romance?”

Jounouchi let out a gravelly exhale. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He lowered his voice before speaking again. “I’ve been thinkin’...” he paused and took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinkin’ it’s about time for me to step back from Pro Dueling soon, anyway. It’s great gettin’ to see the world and everything, but some nights, I just want to be back in my own place, moldy grout and all.”

“Ew, you have moldy grout? Why?”

“ **That’s** what you take from my big confession?” Jounouchi howled. “I got moldy grout ‘cause I’m never at home to clean it, that’s why, rich boy!”

“Hey, you’re the Japanese rep for the International League, so you’re a rich boy, too!” Mokuba shot back. And it was true. Jounouchi’s earnings from Pro League tournaments were freely available to tournament runners like Kaiba Corporation, and he’d made a tidy sum in the past six months alone.

“Minor detail,” Jounouchi said in a grumble. “I dunno. I’d like to… you know, come home. Be able to tell Honda, ‘yeah, I’ll meet you for some beer and greasy food,’ or hang out with my little sister again. Or…”

“Or?” Mokuba prompted.

_When did I turn into a matchmaker?_ It was one thing to have told Mai earlier that he believed Mai and Jounouchi inevitably would find their way back to each other, but he didn’t expect to be the Tour Guide to Cloud Nine or anything like that.

“Or see Mai again. For real,” Jounouchi admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Apologize. Figure out what she wants.”

“That’s easy,” Mokuba replied. He didn’t know where this confidence came from all of a sudden, but he knew in his gut that what he was about to say was the truth. “You just ask her.”

Jounouchi let out a wry laugh. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”


	9. The Sixth Labor: Finagle the Final Say

**October 1**

**—Kaiba Corporation Research & Development Department—**

The next morning, Mokuba arrived prepared. Seto was due to come back in two days, but there was every real possibility that he counted the day he left as the start of his vacation, despite having worked the equivalent of a full workday overnight. That meant he might show up tomorrow, and Mokuba couldn’t afford any slip-ups if he did.

With Miri the Barista’s help from the downstairs coffee stand, Mokuba, arms full of hot beverages and pastries balanced in a precarious arrangement, made his way to R&D. Luckily, a researcher was headed out right as Mokuba headed in, so he didn’t have to figure out how to wave the badge hanging near his hip over the RFID sensor in some sort of complicated dance.

“Thanks, Mashirito-san,” Mokuba smiled at the scientist holding the door open and edged past him, a foot holding open the door. Mashirito seemed astonished that Mokuba knew his name, and accidentally got bumped by the door as it clicked shut.

“Morning everyone,” Mokuba called to the newly arrived R&D team. “I have morning refreshments and pastries if anyone didn’t get their complete breakfast today. I’m positive I don’t need to tell **you** guys that it’s the most important meal of the day, right?”

A light chuckle worked its way through the ranks as a handful of employees walked up to the long table that served as the foyer to the R&D department, with glossy brochures and infographics detailing recent innovations, discoveries, and milestones.

“All right, Mokuba-kun,” a voice emerged from the crowd of engineers and technicians, “You never bring us treats first thing in the morning, so you must be here because you want something.”

Mokuba got along pretty well with most everyone at the company, but there was only one “employee” that deigned to call use the diminutive “-kun” honorific with him AND remain invisible behind the glut of people grabbing paper cups of hot coffee or tea. A few people stepped out of the way, and Mokuba strode forward.

“Caught me red-handed, Yuugi,” Mokuba laughed. Unlike his brother, Mokuba was more easily affectionate with friends—even those who were technically under his (or more accurately, Seto’s) employ, and so he had no issue walking up to Yuugi and embracing him with one arm and giving him a hearty pat on the back. “It’s good to see you.”

Over the years, Mokuba sprouted up in height, while Yuugi... mostly remained the same. But what he lacked in leg length, he made up for in hair height; his hairstyle was the only one outside of Kaiba Corporation dress code that everyone tolerated. How he maintained his volume without product, Mokuba never knew. He suspected it was a Mutou family secret, or something.

In any case, Yuugi’s hairstyle worked well with his office look: he wore a violet collared shirt and a heather gray vest and matching trousers, along with a ruby red tie pinned with a gold tie clip. On other people, it might have looked gaudy or inappropriate, but on Yuugi, it just **made sense**. Like Mokuba, he didn’t bother with a suit jacket if he had no reason to wear it, and the temperature in the R&D department was at what Mokuba called the “Goldilocks” setting: not too hot, not too cold.

_Perfect for a negotiation,_ Mokuba thought. He had no need to hide his smile; it was a genuine one reflected on Yuugi’s own face.

“I got you your favorite,” Mokuba told Yuugi, reaching over to grab a cup marked with a star on the side. He snatched a warm breakfast sandwich in a paper bag while he was at it, and a raspberry cheese danish for himself. “Peach green tea with just a squeeze of lemon, and one ice cube, right?”

Yuugi laughed. “You’ve been talking to Miri-san downstairs, haven’t you?” He took the cup with a grateful smile and gestured for Mokuba to follow him deeper into the department to his office: Special Director of New Game Development. Yuugi eschewed the usual trappings of what was ostensibly one of the nicest corner offices on this floor; as a “special consultant” reporting directly to Seto Kaiba, he felt like he didn’t deserve the title **or** the office, but Seto had insisted, and when Seto insisted on something, it was often a waste of time and energy to convince him otherwise.

“Maybe. But I have a pretty good memory, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure!” 

They arrived at Yuugi’s corner office, a stark white room with a birch wood desk and a pair of floor-to-ceiling windows next to a file cabinet and a birch bookcase. Just like how he made a loud business suit look classy, Yuugi turned the quiet, laboratory-like office into a reflection of his personality: every one of the binders and books on his shelves came in bright colors or had neon labels on them; his suit jacket hung off a sapphire-blue coat rack with a top that looked like it had once been a chandelier.

Yuugi made his way around his desk. It was neatly arranged, but unlike the typical black-on-black layout of most directors’ offices, Yuugi had a red stapler, an assortment of blue, purple, and pink pop-up sticky notes in a dispenser shaped like a Blue-Eyes White Dragon, and an array of multicolored gel pens and mechanical pencils fanned out inside a Kaiba Land souvenir cup.

“So, what can I do for you, Mokuba-kun?”

Mokuba sat himself down in one of the two artsy-looking wooden chairs in front of Yuugi’s desk, glancing around at the wall art—a black-and-white photo of the pyramids at Giza here, a photo of him and his grandfather there—and leaned back.

“How’s the new Duel Disk project coming along? I know that’s only tangential to your usual work, but I know you got involved with it at Seto’s request.”

“Working with Chief Kuwabara is great,” Yuugi replied. “He’s very passionate about getting the technology working just right, and it makes sense why he’s been with the company for so long.”

“He has, hasn’t he?” Mokuba tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Did you know his hair used to be as dark as mine? Like, I remember it distinctly. But at some point after Battle City, it just went all gray, and he just went with it.”

Yuugi chuckled. “More power to him. I remember when Jounouchi-kun found his first gray hair, he called me in the middle of the night asking if he was going to die tomorrow or something.”

_Perfect, I didn’t even have to awkwardly bring up Jounouchi myself!_

“Speaking of Jounouchi, I had a question for you. Since you’re handling a lot of the debut aspects of the upcoming exhibition, I wanted to ask what your plans were for the Duel Disk.”

Yuugi blinked owlishly at Mokuba. “What does Jounouchi-kun have to do with that?”

Mokuba leaned over to the desk, as if he had a secret to whisper in Yuugi’s ear. They were separated from the rest of the office by a double-paned glass window and door, and there was no chance of anyone **actually** overhearing them, but Yuugi reciprocated the gesture nonetheless. “You know Seto’s on vacation for the next day or so, right?”

“I heard rumors,” Yuugi said in a low voice. “Was it supposed to be a secret?”

“No,” Mokuba continued, “But I’m CEO in his stead, and the more I do now that takes projects off his plate later, the better off we’ll all be, don’t you think?”

Yuugi inclined himself backwards into his ergonomic mesh chair, the beginnings of a grin curving the corners of his lips. “I see what you mean. So does that mean you’re taking care of the product demos and presentations now?”

“Exactly,” Mokuba replied, tapping Yuugi’s desk. “How do you feel about Jounouchi debuting the new Duel Disk for us?”

“You’re asking **me**?” Yuugi’s already-large eyes widened further. “I doubt I have any say in the matter, but obviously, I’m all for it. I’m not really interested in being in the spotlight these days…”

“I figured.” Mokuba nodded, his lips pursed. “And as for who as the final say, well…” Mokuba smirked. “I don’t see Seto around, and he made me the acting CEO, so I give **you** the final say.”

Yuugi chuckled. “Well then, I say Jounouchi should debut it for us. Last I checked, he was doing really well in the International Leagues, so he’d be a good real world example, anyway.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Things were going swimmingly. Mokuba hadn’t needed to bribe, beg, or cajole Yuugi in the slightest; he’d just readily agreed that Jounouchi should get exactly what his friend wanted.

“I’m pretty sure he’s coming back from Germany tomorrow,” Mokuba said, unlocking his phone and flicking through a few apps: notes, calendar, email, to confirm everything he’d been painstakingly putting together over the last few days. “We’ll make sure to get him in the day before the exhibition so he can learn the new interface. If we get permission from Industrial Illusions, we might even be able to have him show off the new summoning method.”

“I’m looking forward to that!” Yuugi said, and Mokuba knew he was telling the truth. While Yuugi dressed a bit differently than he had when Mokuba had first met him, his personality was as enthusiastic and dedicated as ever. It was a wonder Seto had managed to get him on the payroll though, since Yuugi seemed to think that it was perfectly fine for someone of his talent to just keep working behind the counter at the Turtle Game Shop until he got old and gray like his grandfather.

“Hey, how is Sugoroku-san, these days?” Mokuba asked, realizing he hadn’t seen the old man in quite some time. Perhaps, like Isono, he was “immortal”, and just as spry as he’d been all those years ago, when he’d posed as “Mask the Rock,” a thinly disguised Pro Duelist at the KC Grand Prix tournament.

“Doing pretty good, for someone about to turn 86 in three days,” Yuugi said with a smile.

“Whoa seriously? That’s awesome. Happy early birthday to him from me,” Mokuba replied sincerely.

“I’ll let him know.”

“Are you going to be doing anything special?” Mokuba asked.

“Making him breakfast, at least to the best of my effort,” Yuugi said, his cheeks flaming pink. “He asked for homemade tamagoyaki, so I’m going to try and deliver. The plan is to head home on time every day this week, if I can manage it, and have my roommate judge my trial runs.”

“Oh, are you taking that whole day off?”

“No, no,” Yuugi waved his hands in front of his chest. “A half-day. I can’t afford to be gone all day so soon before the exhibition.”

Mokuba raised an eyebrow. “Have you been talking to my brother in the past week? Before I kicked him out of here, he spouted some similar crap about not being able to ‘afford’ taking a break.”

Yuugi’s light blush morphed into a red stain that caused his cheeks to nearly match his tie. 

“No, I haven’t, really!” Yuugi sighed. “I just— Kaiba-kun gave me this amazing opportunity, and I don’t want him to have any regrets.”

Mokuba had to forcefully stifle the belly laugh that threatened to erupt from his lips just then.

_When are either of them going to understand that they’re_ best _friends?_

Sure, Yuugi was also best friends with Jounouchi, who was also best friends with Honda, but it didn’t lessen the depth of Yuugi’s undeniable friendship with Seto, at least not in Mokuba’s book. Even if Seto would never say so—in so many words, at any rate—he probably felt the same way.

“You’re a special consultant to the chief executive officer, Yuugi,” Mokuba said out of exasperation. “You don’t have to go through the usual channels to request a day off to spend with your grandpa. You can just tell me or Seto and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Yuugi bowed his head, his bangs obscuring his eyes. For a moment, Mokuba wondered if he was about to cry. He fully supported people being their authentic selves at work, but he spent so much time around Seto that open displays of emotions—especially those involving tears—still put him on edge. 

“Thank you, Mokuba-kun,” Yuugi said, his voice coming out a bit gruff. 

_He sounded a bit like…_ him _, in that moment._

Mokuba knew better than to mention Atem in front of Yuugi. Even if it had been more than thirteen years since the Ceremonial Duel, in some ways, Mokuba thought Yuugi had never quite gotten over it. If he had, maybe he would have been more accepting when Anzu wanted to tell Atem’s story in the form of a Broadway musical. Maybe he would have been with Anzu at the Beacon Theatre, dressed to the nines and cheering her on as she won Tony Award after Tony Award.

_He still doesn’t know I financed most of the production,_ Mokuba knew. So he never talked about anything entertainment or New York-related around Yuugi, too afraid he would slip into a funk and shut down. 

Kaiba Corporation demanded excellence from all its employees, but Seto never wanted the company to depend solely on one person, not even himself. But a depressed Yuugi impacted more than just himself: he was in charge of a department of dozens of people, and worked with plenty more on a regular basis. No one could do what Yuugi could, in terms of envisioning new games, new uses for the Solid Vision technology, improvements to dueling mechanics. And no one could engineer or code Solid Vision with the speed that Seto could. 

_The company can survive with one of them out of commission for a while, but both of them? It wouldn’t take long before we’d run into some major problems._ And as much as Mokuba wanted to be more involved with the company’s day-to-day activities, he had his strengths, while Yuugi and Seto each had their own. There wasn’t a whole lot of overlap.

“The truth is, I don’t know if I could stomach being there all day,” Yuugi admitted. “Grandpa would probably close up shop and want to play _Duel Monsters_ with me all day, but...I’m not all that excited about playing ten matches in a row, you know?”

“Gotten used to the Duel Simulator, have you?” Mokuba chortled. 

Yuugi fixed him with a flat stare. “You know Grandpa doesn’t use a Duel Disk, right? Not the first generation, not the second, none of them! And he insists on shuffling and cutting each deck—which he prefers to make from random packs instead of using the same cards over and over again—a certain number of times, even if that number is 36 or 47. It’s never a nice low number, like two or three.”

Mokuba did belly laugh this time, and before long, Yuugi joined him.

A minute later, when they’d both caught their breath and wiped the tears prickling the corners of their eyes, Yuugi sucked in a breath. “Since you said I can just ask you, do you think you can do me a favor?”

_Uh-oh. I didn’t expect this._

But maybe that was his mistake, thinking that anyone would really help him out “for free.” Everyone had time, energy, or money to lose at any given moment.

_“There’s no such thing as a free lunch,”_ Mokuba remembered learning in an economics class back in undergrad.

“Sure,” Mokuba replied slowly, his left eye just beginning to twitch. “I can’t promise you I’ll be able to deliver, but—” 

“I want to throw Kaiba-kun a proper birthday party. It doesn't have to be anything big, just something to take him away from being the perfect host for the exhibition. He should get a chance to really celebrate turning 30.”

Mokuba’s smile softened. _Of course Yuugi would suggest something like that._

Not something for himself. Not a day off to spend with his grandpa, not a fancy outfit or a new car. Not even a nice dinner out somewhere or extra vacation time. A party. Not even a party, really, but **permission** to throw one for a notorious workaholic and grump.

“You don’t even have to ask for that, Yuugi. I’m on board, 100 percent.”

“Did he ever tell you what we did for my 30th birthday this past summer?” Yuugi asked.

“No, what’d you—wait, you said **we**? You guys did something together?”

“Yeah. Grandpa was… he was in the hospital getting a stent then, and so there wasn’t anything to really celebrate at home. Mom insisted I still try and keep myself busy, since there was nothing I could really accomplish by sitting there, staring at the floor.” 

“Oh,” Mokuba said softly. He had no idea Sugoroku had been through heart surgery, but he could imagine how helpless Yuugi felt. Mokuba had felt similarly, back when Seto left him “in charge” of Kaiba Corporation while the Big Five made a deal with Pegasus behind their backs. He’d desperately wanted to help his big brother then, but it was clear there was simply nothing he could do, even in keeping the vault key away from Pegasus, or stealing Yuugi’s Star Chips, or…

“We went up to the Blue-Eyes White Jet platform. Watched the sunset and played this weird spherical chess game Kaiba-kun had loaded on the Duel Disk prototype from back then.” Yuugi let out a breathy laugh. “He wiped the floor with me.”

Mokuba’s brows shot up into his hairline. “He **beat** you at something?”

Yuugi’s gaze switched from his tall window overlooking western Domino to Mokuba. Somehow, the daylight outside—perhaps reflecting off the other skyscrapers in the area—made Yuugi’s eyes look glassy.

“I’m not the King of Games anymore,” he said softly. “And I’m okay with that.”

Mokuba scanned Yuugi’s face for any sign that he was lying, but if he was, Mokuba couldn’t tell. “Is–is it because of Big Brother? Or do you mean—”

"I haven’t been the King of Games for a long time, Mokuba-kun. And honestly, I’m not sure I would ever want to be again.”

“Did you tell Big Brother that?” Mokuba blurted.

Yuugi reclined a bit more in his chair, looking thoughtfully up at his ceiling. “Not in so many words, no. But I think he knows.”

Mokuba didn’t know what to say, so he was grateful when Yuugi continued to speak.

“He brought me out of a pretty dark place I’d fallen into that day, to be honest,” Yuugi said. “I never had the courage to tell him so, and even if I did, I’m sure he’d make some excuse about how it wasn’t about cheering me up or even it being my birthday.”

“Ha, that sounds like Big Brother,” Mokuba responded. Seto didn’t personally **do** things for other people. Or rather, he did, but it was always under the pretense of something else, like a project at work or an international call he had to stay up late for.

“So you can understand why I want to give him a proper birthday party, right? Like, the one he should have gotten when he turned 18, or on his 20th birthday, or any of them.”

“Copious amounts of alcohol and pizza, check,” Mokuba said with a grin. He was happy to find the smile returned. “Should I arrange for an inflatable ball pit in one of the hotel conference rooms, too?”

Yuugi guffawed at the notion. “I don’t think Kaiba-kun would come within two meters of one of those things without wearing a full hazmat suit.”

“You’re probably right. Okay, so no ball pit, but what about laser tag?”

Yuugi laughed harder.

“An escape room? Or maybe we should have a themed costume party…”


	10. The Seventh and Final Labor: Plan a Secret Birthday Party (and Maybe Play Matchmaker)

**October 2**

**—Kaiba Corporation Headquarters, Domino—**

Before Mokuba even arrived at Kaiba Corporation headquarters early that morning—just in case Seto decided to put in an appearance—an email from Jounouchi arrived in his inbox, thanking him for arranging the Duel Disk trial invite. Indented below that, Jounouchi had replied “hell yes!” to Yuugi’s offer to debut the new model of Duel Disk, and adding a few lines about his anticipated arrival around 3 p.m. Japan Standard Time the next day. At the very bottom of the message— _clearly Jounouchi doesn’t bother with deleting previous messages in a chain_ , Mokuba thought— sat Yuugi’s original invitation email, the timestamp indicating he’d sent it to Jounouchi not long after Mokuba had left Yuugi’s office yesterday morning.

“P.S.,” Mokuba read aloud, “Here’s Leon’s mobile number so you can have the Ishtars call him before they come for their vacation. He said he already had an invite couriered over to them at the Society’s address.”

An idea started churning in his head even before he got on the private elevator, but Mokuba noted it was already waiting at ground level, and the doors slid open within seconds. 

_So if Seto is planning on coming in today, he hasn’t arrived...yet_. 

He couldn’t risk assuming that his big brother wouldn’t arrive in the next hour. But if Seto hadn’t arrived by 9:30, Mokuba figured, he was probably safe for the rest of the day. Seto either arrived early or he never left; there was no in-between.

As the elevator ascended the 75 storeys up the Kaiba Corporation headquarters, Mokuba tapped out two separate emails, then looked up a certain taxi company’s phone number, and placed a brief call.

By the time Mokuba arrived at the CEO’s office, Isono was already there and waiting.

“You have a Solid Vision message, Mokuba-sama. It arrived late last night from an international caller. I thought you would want to know right away.”

“Thanks, Isono. I’ll check it right now.”

“Is there anything else, sir?” Isono asked.

“Not yet,” Mokuba smiled at Isono. “Just let me know if you hear Seto is on his way in.”

Isono nodded in reply and then exited the office, heading to his own desk in the foyer just outside.

“Mina, play the newest message received on the Solid Vision line,” Mokuba told the Solid Vision AI as he got settled at his desk.

“Please wait.” A moment later, and then Malik appeared once again in the office.

“I realize you’re seven hours ahead of us here and there’s no way you’ll get this as anything other than a recorded message, but I simply couldn’t wait: thank you, Mokuba-kun.” His Solid Vision counterpart bowed deeply, and when he rose again, his eyes were bright and his smile wide.

“Isis and Rishid returned from their dig yesterday afternoon. When they came over for our weekly dinner, they said a courier delivered the most extraordinary invitation to them.” Malik held up what looked like a luxurious cream-colored envelope the size of a magazine. Mokuba could just barely make out the embossed gold rose in one corner, the modern Schroeder’s take on their historical family crest.

The recorded Malik withdrew a stiff piece of cardstock from within the envelope and read aloud: “‘You are cordially invited to spend two weeks at the Schroeder Castle in the Bavarian Alps of Germany, enjoying quaint villages, refreshing health retreats and spas, and year-round activities, ranging from canoeing on nearby Lake Eibsee to hiking, paragliding, skiing, snowboarding on Mount Zug– Zugspit—’ I’ve undoubtedly mangled this name; I can’t pronounce it at all, but it’s the tallest mountain in Germany.”

To Mokuba’s surprise, Malik then lifted the cardstock to his nose and gave it a long sniff. “Mokuba-kun, the invitation smells like roses. My sister didn’t open the invitation because it was addressed to “The Ishtar Family,” and not the Society, but you should have seen her; she was so excited to find out what was inside. I— this goes above and beyond what I ever could have imagined. Thank you again, Mokuba-kun.”

“We spent several hours trying to pinpoint a good time for us to take our vacation,” Malik continued, “And we’d decided heading there after the exhibition is a good idea. None of us are required to maintain the exhibit this time around, so I’ll be joining my sister and Rishid to help set it up, and hopefully film a few episodes for my channel so I don’t have to worry about missing anything while on vacation. I look forward to thanking you in person. But first—”

Malik nodded once, and then added, “Onto business.” He made a swiping gesture and Mina the AI intoned, “Attachment received. Proceed to open?” The recording froze, waiting for Mokuba’s input.

“Yes, on my desktop, please,” Mokuba replied. “Resume playback of recording.”

Mokuba looked at the document—the revised contract, complete with Isis’ signed authorization as Director of the Egyptian Archaeological Society. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and practically melted into his chair.

_Finally, things are falling into place!_ With some luck, he’d have the paintings in hand weeks before Seto’s birthday.

“Isis had no issues at all signing the revised contract,” Malik continued. “She has every confidence that the exhibition will be a success simply by virtue of having you and your brother supporting it. I know Kaiba Corporation believes in the future of this world, rather than getting mired in the past. So…we are all—but me especially—eager to see how you will help evolve _Duel Monsters_ in the future, and keep changing lives.”

Malik furrowed his brows a bit and looked down as he bit his lip. “I– I know I told you earlier that an apology can never make up for how I treated you and your brother all those years ago. But if there’s one thing the Pharaoh—that is, Atem—taught me, it’s that...at some point, we have to move on. And I thank you for opening my eyes to that message once more. ”

He smiled and bowed once more, and the recording ended. 

Mokuba let the quiet return to the office for a full minute before he pulled a business card out from his wallet. He quickly scanned the number on the front and waited until someone answered.

“Hey, Otogi, it’s Mokuba. I’ve got a contract to send you, are you free? Great…”

* * *

At precisely 11 o’clock that day, Mokuba received a message on his phone: a shiny Peugeot 308 Cabriolet Coupe, parked right next to Mai’s old car in what he assumed was the Watanabe Dream lot. Honda followed it up with a brief text message: _Where do you want me to drop off the new car?_

Mokuba had come up with a genius idea late last night, but it seemed like there was no way for him to put it into action without someone else getting involved. He couldn’t risk anyone at Kaiba Corporation finding out about his elaborate scheme to get Seto a 30th birthday present he’d never forget, so it was Honda or bust.

His fingers flew across his digital keyboard in reply: _Can you drop it off in the Business Aviation Terminal near Terminal 2? There's a parking structure right in front. I can call and confirm the reservation for you._

Three dots appeared on the screen, then disappeared. Then they reappeared again… and vanished. Mokuba sat, bouncing one leg on and off the floor. What was Honda going to say?

_What are you planning?_

_Why, do you want in on it?_ Mokuba smirked. If Honda really had changed the least out of all of everyone, he might be up for some harmless mischief. It **did** involve Mai, though…

_Depends, are you going to pay for my train ticket home from the airport?_

He had a point. Mokuba did a few mental calculations before responding to Honda: _You won’t need one. Besides, I got you front row seats to_ Millennium _that not even the theatre fan club members can get. So I’m sure spending a couple of hours in the Premiere Gate lounge and hanging onto the keys for me will be no big deal._

Honda’s reply came instantaneously: _Are you shitting me?_ _What’s the catch?_

_No catch_ , Mokuba wrote, pleased that he’d been able to arrange the exclusive tickets—along with a backstage meet-and-greet—without too much hassle. _You just have to wear a suit_ , he added to his message. It wasn’t strictly **necessary** , but it would help with the plan Mokuba had in mind.

_I’m a manager at Watanabe Dream, remember? I’m stuck wearing one of those monkey suits whether I want to or not._

Mokuba burst out laughing at the irony of Honda referring to business dress as a “monkey suit.” He **could** remind Honda about the time when he was trapped in a robot monkey’s body, but…

_I could use Honda’s help for what I’ve got planned. I can’t let him walk away yet!_

Mokuba added a string of affirmative emoji before tapping out, _I’ll meet you at the lounge at 2:45 sharp._

_OK! And I won’t ask why you’re doing this instead of dropping off the keys with some special parking valet or whatever. But at least tell me why the hell did you have Otogi of all people call me to confirm the Sorasio reservation?_

Mokuba cackled. He wished he could take credit for the idea, but instead, Otogi had requested the opportunity to talk to Honda again, if just to take him by surprise. Mokuba had no issue with it; after all, Otogi was helping Honda more than he was Mokuba; Mokuba was just benefiting—somewhere down the line—from all these favors and deals.

_I’ll tell you when we meet up._ He added a winking emoji at the end for good measure. 

Mokuba paused, wondering if Honda would understand what he was plotting. He didn’t have to wait long for Honda to reply.

_You’re just as much of a mischief-maker as when you were a kid, you know that?_

_I’ll take that as a compliment,_ Mokuba texted back. _Are you in?_

Another set of three dots, and then a minute later: _Yeah, I’m in. See you at 2:45._

* * *

**—Narita International Airport—**

“You’re **positive** that they’re both arriving this afternoon, right?”

“I told you,” Mokuba said, “Jounouchi included his itinerary at the bottom of his email to me earlier, and Mai-san specifically said she needed her car to be ready by the time she arrived here today at three.”

Honda grumbled and pulled at his tie. “Fine, sure. And they’re both definitely coming in here, at Terminal One?”

“Yup, Jounouchi’s flying Swiss Air, and Mai’s on AirFrance. They’re actually both on the fourth floor, so this will only work if they haven’t already run into each other upstairs,” Mokuba chuckled nervously. 

_Oops. Probably should have considered that possibility earlier._

But really, what were the chances? One flight arrived in the North Wing, the other in the South Wing. Even if both Jounouchi and Mai walked at the same pace and didn’t have a ton of baggage to wait for or a long customs line to deal with, there would still be hundreds of people between them.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out. Meet you in the middle?” Honda raised his eyebrows and pulled the chauffeur’s cap Mokuba had given him a bit lower on his head. Thankfully, he’d shaved the shadowy scruff he’d had peppering his cheeks and chin the last time Mokuba saw him, and so Honda looked virtually indistinguishable from any other private car service driver, which was the idea. 

“Yup. Text me if you get there first; I’ll send the car around.”

Honda scoffed. “I won’t tell Jounouchi you’ve got a ghost car. He’ll freak out and refuse to set foot in it.”

“It’s a self-driving car, not a ghost car!” Mokuba retorted. _And besides, it’s not like anybody at the airport will know that._ Seto’s private limousine featured the latest Solid Vision tech, along with a state-of-the-art auto-pilot, which meant it **looked** like it had a driver, even if it didn’t.

“Minor detail,” Honda responded with a laugh. “See you on the other side, kid.”

“Hey, who’re you calling a kid, monkey? Hey!”

Honda only laughed his way down the hall to the arrival terminal for Jounouchi’s flight, leaving Mokuba to scramble down the opposite hallway to try and find Mai.

* * *

Mokuba’s semi-elaborate plan involved cancelling Jounouchi’s cab reservation for getting back to Domino and emailing him with the message that Mokuba would arrange for a private car pickup—he was, after all, an esteemed guest of Kaiba Corporation for their exhibition. He was counting on Jounouchi to not see through Mokuba’s bald-faced flattery and accept the free ride as offered. Honda would pretend to be a chauffeur and wait for Jounouchi in the arrival lobby, only revealing his identity when Jounouchi actually showed up. 

_“Not that I have a problem with Mai or anything after all this time, but I’ve got a bone to pick with Jounouchi for never calling, that ass,”_ Honda had told Mokuba. _“Not even Shizuka, his own little sister! What gives, right?”_

_Well, it’s not like I’ve heard from Seto for the past week, but that’s part of the plan… right?_

Mokuba shook his head back and forth. He couldn’t afford to imagine some worst-case scenario, where something had happened to Seto without Mokuba knowing. There was no way. After all, Seto hadn’t taken the self-driving car, which was still a Kaiba Corporation prototype, and not one of Seto’s primary vehicles, most days. When Mokuba had asked after the car, Isono had told him that the only vehicle missing from the company fleet’s inventory was Seto’s imported Mustang.

_I could have asked where it was located, maybe plan for Seto’s arrival, but…_ Mokuba didn’t want to be a creepy stalker and invade his brother’s privacy. Wherever he chose to escape for a week, that was his business. If he wanted to share that information with Mokuba, then great.

_The important thing is that Seto went on vacation at all, not where he spent his time._

As far as how Mokuba had been spending **his** time over the past several hours, his email to Jounouchi arrived sometime late at night in Europe, when Jounouchi would almost assuredly be sleeping on the plane. But he would see the message as soon as he woke up and logged on to the in-flight Wi-Fi, when it was already too late to change anything about his pickup arrangements. 

Mokuba had also emailed Mai and said he had her car ready for pickup and would hand off the keys to her personally, for “safety's sake.” He’d meet her in the arrival lobby with a private car to bring her to where her new car was parked and send her on her way with best wishes...until they met again for his and Seto’s inevitable fitting for their exhibition outfits. He could only hope she’d come through with the dress for Anzu before April. He had to have **something** to hand to Anzu so she’d give him the crucial last link in this tangled chain Mokuba had assembled over the past several days: the _Millennium_ libretto for Pegasus.

He glanced upward and saw a familiar head of blonde hair.

_It’s go time_ , he messaged Honda. _See you soon._

This time, he didn’t bother waiting for a reply.

* * *

Honda didn’t know if it was because Jounouchi was half-asleep as he stumbled out of the arrival gate or if it had just been that long since they last saw one another, but his friend took one look at Honda’s hastily scribbled sign reading “Jounouchi” and headed right toward it without saying a word.

“Eh, I’m Jounouchi. Katsuya Jounouchi. Are you the pickup—”

“Yes, I’m the pickup, you scruffy nerf herder!” Honda exclaimed, pulling the cap off his head.

“Honda!? What the heck are you doin’ here?” Jounouchi’s eyes widened, and he looked Honda up and down, clearly bemused by the fact that Honda wore a slim-fitting black suit with a white dress shirt and black tie.

“And what’s with the getup? Are you on your way to—” Jounouchi froze and his expression turned stony. “You better not be elopin’ with Shizuka…”

“No!” Honda slapped Jounouchi a little too forcefully on the back. “Since I’m supposed to be playing the part of your chauffeur, allow me to assist you with your bags, sir,” Honda gave an exaggerated bow before taking the wheeling suitcase out of Jounouchi’s hand.

“I’ve got something much nicer planned, which I think you’ll approve of. Just got the details finalized earlier today.”

“So you **are** gonna ask her to marry you?” Jounouchi sputtered. 

“You’re the one who told me to propose or dump her! And I sure as hell wasn’t going to break up with her because **you** told me to.”

“Why I oughta—” Jounouchi started to raise his fists at Honda, but Honda just dodged his friend’s wobbly aim and slung his free arm around Jounouchi’s shoulders.

“You’ll see why the getup was necessary when we get to the car,” Honda explained, as if Jounouchi’s outburst never happened. “So, tell me all about Germany. Tell me you tried some good beers…”

* * *

Mokuba got a text message from Honda indicating that he and Jounouchi were five minutes away from the rendezvous point, and immediately switched to another app on his phone. A few taps later, and the car was en route to meet Honda and Jounouchi at the Terminal 1 Main Exit, right where the North and South Wings joined the Central Building.

“What’s got you so busy on your phone?” Mai asked. Mokuba had expected her to look tired, but the truth was, she looked just as poised and collected as she had back in Paris.

_I hope that doesn’t mean she’ll take one look at Jounouchi and run in the other direction._

“Oh, just letting the driver know we’re on our way. Then we can go to where the new car is and you can tell me if I did a good job or not.”

Mai raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Does your brother not compliment your skills often enough? What’s got you fishing for compliments?”

Mokuba started pulling at his too-tight shirt collar. He felt awfully hot all of a sudden.

“N-No, it’s nothing like that! But you had a pretty unusual request, so I want to make sure I did it right. And I think the trade-in value ended up working in your favor, too.”

At least, that was what Honda told Mokuba. He didn’t indicate what, if anything, he had planned for Mai’s old car, or whether he’d already arranged a buyer in Australia or Hong Kong.

“Honestly, as long as you didn't get me some boring silver sedan, I’m pretty sure you did a fine job. Thank you again. And you really didn’t have to come out all this way. You could have just left the keys with the parking valet or something.”

“Absolutely not!” Mokuba shook his head vehemently. _That would have ruined all my plans!_ “I don’t want some teenager doing donuts in an airport parking garage with your new car.”

Mai tittered, covering her mouth with her hand as she did so. “All right, all right. Oh, and as far as your fitting, Jacques scheduled it for the 11th. I hope that day is good for both you and your brother.”

“Should be,” Mokuba nodded, adding the appointment to his phone’s calendar while he was thinking of it. They were about five minutes away from the rendezvous points themselves. Had Honda and Jounouchi already made it to the limo?

_Told Jounouchi we’re stuck in traffic before we can depart. You gonna be here soon? I don’t want him asking me to put down the privacy screen only for him to see there’s not really a driver,_ Honda messaged him.

_Be there in five,_ Mokuba tapped out before adding, _You should see locks for the privacy divider on the passenger armrest. If worse comes to worst, you can re-activate Mina by entering the code 1022 on the center console._

_Your freaky Solid Vision driver has a cute girl’s name?!_

“Minor detail,” Mokuba grumbled under his breath. 

He’d named the AI Mina after his favorite Sailor Guardian from Sailor Moon: Minako Aino, also known as Sailor Venus. Her reactivation code was also the character’s birthday: October 22. He figured it made for a cute pun, since Sailor Venus used the same initials as Solid Vision. Seto hadn’t understood the reference—or Mokuba’s insistence on the name—which Mokuba attributed to the fact that Seto hadn’t ever been able to watch the show with Mokuba while it was airing—he’d been too busy with Gozaburo’s nonstop “lessons” from dawn until dusk. 

“Hm? What’d you say, Mokuba-kun?”

“Oh, nothing, was just trying to get that fitting in my calendar,” Mokuba explained sheepishly. “I got it working.”

He hesitated. What about Anzu’s dress? Thankfully, Mai saved him the trouble by speaking before he could open his mouth more than a centimeter or two.

“Jacques got quite excited when I told him about the commission for Anzu-chan for the Olivier Awards. Said he had the perfect fabric in mind and everything.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Mokuba said, exhaling. Was he allowed to say he’d been worrying about it?

“You said you wanted something to make your suit stand out from your brother’s, so I think you’ll be impressed with what Jacques came up with. Consider it a sneak peek of Anzu-chan’s dress; he’s using the same pattern on your jacket,” Mai told him. “But I’ve got a drive with Jacques’ Solid Vision designs on it for you to show her, in case she needs proof you came through.”

They turned the corner toward the exit connecting to the Central Building.

“The car should be right out here,” Mokuba said, and sure enough, the Kaiba Corporation prototype limousine sat waiting at the curb. With tinted windows, Mokuba couldn’t see Honda in the passenger seat up front, nor Jounouchi somewhere in the back. The car was also mostly soundproofed, but what was Honda going to say when Jounouchi undoubtedly heard the trunk open and shut?

“A limousine to take me to a parking lot, Mokuba-kun? And here I thought you weren’t as extra as your brother,” Mai said, smirking.

“We’ve each got our strengths,” Mokuba replied, returning Mai’s cheeky grin. “Allow me to take your bags, Mai-san.”

He headed toward the trunk and popped it open with a tap on his key fob, holding his breath the entire time. If anyone was going to find out about his ploy, it was now, at the last crucial minute. He slid Mai’s two bags into the trunk alongside Jounouchi’s suitcase and closed the trunk as softly as he could manage.

Mokuba hurried over to the side door, his lips pursed shut. “My lady,” he said with an exaggerated bow as he opened the door. When Jounouchi didn’t appear right away, he let out the breath he’d been holding at last. Mai slid one leg into the vehicle, and as soon as she lifted the other leg off the curb, Mokuba began to close the door.

_Success! Let’s hope neither one of them breaks the glass in an effort to escape finally_ talking _to one another._

Mokuba scrambled to the driver’s side door and plunked himself in the seat, tugging at his tie as he went. The tinted divider between the cab and the passenger section of the limousine prevented Mokuba or Honda from knowing what was happening with Mai and Jounouchi, but the doors were locked and nobody was trying to open them, so…

“So?” Honda asked.

“So now we take the scenic route back to the Business Aviation Terminal for Mai’s car and hope for the best,” Mokuba said, gripping the steering wheel just a bit too tightly.

Honda leaned back in his seat and pulled the brim of his borrowed chauffeur’s cap over his eyes. “With these two, I honestly have no idea what ‘the best’ is, but I’ve never seen Jounouchi happier than when he’s with her. So… yeah, let’s hope.”

Mokuba pressed the button on the car’s steering column to start the engine and began to drive.

* * *

Jounouchi had been distracted watching _Leavens of the Levant_ on ViewTube with his limited edition “Red-Eyes Black Dragon” noise-cancelling headphones when the passenger door into the limousine opened again. He only looked up when he saw one decidedly feminine leg slide into the vehicle… and there she was.

He’d just taken a sip of one of those free bottles of water Mokuba had stashed in the limousine, but seeing her again, it felt like he’d been walking across the desert for a week and was just now coming across a lush oasis.

“Mai…?” Jounouchi croaked. His headphones slid unceremoniously off his head, the ear cups clapping together in front of his throat. He choked for a split second before tearing them off his neck and sliding toward Mai.

Mai, for her part, froze as soon as she saw him, half standing up even as the limousine door behind her shut—and locked.

“That little brat—” Mai mumbled under her breath.

“Honda, too,” Jounouchi added, thumbing toward the partition. “We got played.”

Mai sighed and sat down on the long bench lining one side of the limousine. “It is what it is.” She sat quietly for a moment, smoothing out the wrinkles on her pantsuit.

“It’s good to see you again,” they both said at the same time. For several heartbeats, they both just stared at each other, wide-eyed and—well, at least in Jounouchi’s case—open-mouthed.

Mai bent her head down and giggled behind her hand; three seconds later, Jounouchi let out a barked laugh of his own.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Mai said slowly, raising her gaze to meet Jounouchi’s once more. “Back in Paris, Mokuba said something to me, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot: ‘I think you guys will find your way back to each other, in the end. I’ve always thought you guys were meant to be together.’ I thought he was just being a young romantic. I didn’t expect him to play matchmaker.”

“Heh,” Jounouchi chuckled. “I shoulda figured somethin’ was up when he asked about you out of the blue.”

Mai blinked at him. “Asked about me? When?”

Jounouchi looked up at the roof of the limousine, complete with a sliding sunroof. “Eh, a couple of days ago, I think. Was confirmin’ my invite to the exhibition at the end of the month.”

“Ah,” Mai let out a breath. “So you’re going too?”

Jounouchi sat upright. “Wait, you were plannin’ on going to the exhibition? But I thought—”

Mai waved her hand before Jounouchi could finish his sentence. “Not as a duelist. I’m done with that life. But Jacques is doing a preview runway show for his upcoming wearable technology collaboration with Kaiba Corporation, and he asked if I would like to be there as head of the local atelier.” 

“Not as a model?” Jounouchi wiggled his eyebrows. 

Mai slid across the leather cushions and gave Jounouchi a light smack on the arm. “You incorrigible flirt!”

Jounouchi’s gaze softened. “Only with you, Mai.” He swallowed, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing up and down a few times before he found the words he wanted to say. “It’s always only ever been you.”

“I—” Mai began, but before she could finish, the partition slid downward, revealing a grinning Mokuba in the driver’s seat, and Honda beside him.

“I hate to interrupt anything, but I wanted to let you know we’re about to arrive at your car, Mai-san.”

“Your new Peugeot 308 CC in an ultra-rare ‘Magnificent Peacock’ color,” Honda added.

“That better not be a pun, Honda,” Mai said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Nope,” Honda shook his head. “Maybe it’s fate. Or maybe you just got lucky,” he said, glancing back and forth between Mai and Jounouchi. “You’ll see when we get there.”

A few seconds later, the limousine pulled up in front of a parked car hidden under a Watanabe Dream cover. Both Mokuba and Honda got out of the limousine: Mokuba to get Mai’s bags, and Honda to remove the cover and present Mai with her keys.

Honda removed the cover with a flourish, revealing the Peugeot colored with chameleon-like paint that shifted from a deep purple to a vibrant turquoise depending on how the light hit it.

“Ta-da!” Honda exclaimed.

“Whoa.”

Mokuba, standing beside Mai’s trunk with her bags beside him, and Honda next to him both looked backward. Jounouchi had emerged from the limousine, too, and was staring at Mai’s new car with his mouth hanging open. 

“Your keys, honorable customer,” Honda intoned with an exaggerated bow, presenting Mai’s keys on an outstretched palm. 

Mai looked at the car, and then over her shoulder at Jounouchi. She grabbed the keys from Honda and clenched them tightly in a white-knuckled fist. 

“Is this what you two planned all along?”

“If by ‘all along,’ you mean since some time this morning, then yeah,” Mokuba admitted. 

Honda nodded sagely beside him. “I had nothing to do with this until this afternoon. But the kid—” Mokuba elbowed Honda in the ribs “Ow– I mean **Mokuba** here had the right idea. You two need to just… talk. Whether that’s now in your car or later, at the exhibition or whatever, that’s up to you. But it needs to get done.”

Jounouchi stared at Mai, unblinking. After a second, his brows knit in the center of his forehead and he looked down, his bangs covering his eyes. “Whatever you want to do, Mai.”

Mai sucked in a deep breath and then relaxed her hand, the jagged indentations on her palm from where the keys bit into it slowly fading away. 

“Come on, Jounouchi. I’ll give you a ride back to your place.” 

Jounouchi immediately brightened, his sullen expression morphing into a radiant grin. He dashed to the back of the limousine and pulled out his own bag, and scrambled back to Mai’s side, insisting he could help “Tetris” their bags into the trunk of her car and give her time to “get comfortable” inside.

“You two have fun now,” Honda said, wiggling the fingers of one hand at them. He only laughed when Jounouchi flipped him off in response and practically dove into the passenger seat of Mai’s new Cabriolet Coupe.

“Job well done, partner,” Mokuba said, raising a hand in the air. Honda glanced at it, and then at Mokuba’s face before grinning and high-fiving the younger man.

“You’re a good kid, Mokuba,” Honda said, and then he slid into the limousine’s passenger seat once more.

Mokuba flung open the driver's side door and got in. “Hey, didn’t I tell you to stop calling me a kid! I’m the one driving you back to your Dream Factory, you know...”


	11. Never Break the Chain

**October 5**

**—Tokyo—**

Three days later, Mokuba found himself staring up at Anzu’s apartment building once more.

 _Almost done, Mokuba,_ he thought. _Let’s hope Anzu followed through on her end._

He didn’t normally doubt Anzu—they’d been good friends for over a decade because of his trust in her—but he **had** asked her to get in touch with her ex and the guy he’d cheated on her with. That was a hard sell no matter who you were negotiating with.

But so far he’d managed to plan a birthday party, arrange a Duel Disk demonstration, set up a ski vacation, finagle an altered ad contract, make a fancy dinner reservation, get front-row tickets to a Christmas Eve performance of _Millennium_ , trade a used car for a brand-new one in a fancy color, **and** arrange for both a dress for Anzu for the Olivier Awards and a suit for him for the upcoming exhibition.

Better yet, it had taken him less than the thirteen days Pegasus gave him before his birthday, so unless Anzu **hadn’t** been able to assemble the libretto…

 _I can’t think like that!_ Mokuba thought, striding toward the lobby. _Everything else has worked out so far!_

Shockingly, Seto’s vacation was one of those things, even though it hadn’t really been part of Mokuba’s plan. After a week passed and Mokuba still hadn’t heard from Seto, he got worried, but before he could freak out and ask Isono for the GPS coordinates of Seto’s car, Seto called, saying he didn’t see the point in coming in for just two days of the work week, and he’d be back instead on the Monday of the week following. He’d work remotely for two days, and return home over the weekend.

Mokuba found himself intensely curious about what Seto had been up to for the past week, but he decided he could wait until Seto was back home.

“Hey, it’s me, I’m outside your front door,” Mokuba pressed the intercom outside Anzu’s posh apartment. A moment later and the door opened and Anzu emerged, surprisingly wearing a pair of gray sweats, with her hair done up in a messy ponytail.

“Uh, did I come at a bad time?”

Anzu frowned at him, “I called you and told you to come over, you goofball. I was just cleaning up. Come in.” She turned and gestured to Mokuba to come inside and slip off his shoes before heading inside.

“Wow, this place looks totally different!” 

Where before the floor had been littered with half-opened boxes and partially assembled furniture, now the place actually bore some resemblance to a home. Anzu had a matching glass-topped dining and living room table set, along with modern white cushioned chairs, and a plush-looking sofa sofa. 

“I see you finally unwrapped your awards,” Mokuba noted, gesturing at the three Tony Awards in Anzu’s display case. Beside the silver medallions, a golden gramophone statuette sat, along with an assortment of other gleaming metal trophies.

“Hey, I worked my ass off to get where I am today,” Anzu said. “I gave up a lot. I lost a lot.” She looked wistfully out the nearby floor-to-ceiling window, at the neverending Tokyo skyline.

Mokuba didn’t have to ask her for details; he already knew. “I know,” he added softly. “I know.”

“But,” he brightened, “Like you wanted, you’re going to go out with a bang. Here, put this on.”

Mokuba handed her a silver cuff bracelet about 12 centimeters long. Anzu looked at it oddly before complying, sliding it on over her forearm.

“Okay, now what? Last I checked a dress and a bracelet aren’t the same thing, Mokuba,” Anzu told him.

“I know, I know! Press the little button on the outer edge, near your wrist.”

As soon as Anzu did so, a beam of rainbow colored light shot out from a tiny projector on the edge of the cuff, coalescing into a familiar shape: a Solid Vision projection of Anzu, but one wearing a gorgeous scoop neck sleeveless dress the color of the night sky. Sparkling golden hieroglyphs covered the entire dress, from the straps all the way down to the flared mermaid skirt. Some appeared clear and sharp, while others seemed mottled and faded with age.

“Oh,” Anzu gasped, her voice a breathy little whisper. “Mokuba, it’s stunning.”

She circled the projection with her mouth hanging open slightly, nodding in approval at each detail. “Oh, wow. I– I knew you had good fashion taste, but this, this—!”

“Well,” Mokuba blushed. “I can’t take all the credit. Mai-san helped.”

“Mai-san?” Anzu froze and turned to Mokuba, the expression on her face nothing less than astonished. “Wh– How…?”

“Uh, long story short, I went to Paris Fashion Week and she was there, working for the same designer that acts as the liaison to Kaiba Corporation’s wearable technology division.”

“And she just helped you pick out a dress, just like that?”

“Pick out? Oh, no. This is a custom job,” Mokuba replied proudly. “Mai-san told me that as soon as Jacques heard I ordered a dress on your behalf, he just whipped this together, figuring it would be perfect, since, you know, _Millennium_ and all…” Mokuba gestured vaguely at all the hieroglyphs on the dress. “It’ll be ready before the Oliviers, but it’ll still take a few months to put together the real thing. It’ll be one of a kind, just for you.”

Anzu’s eyes widened. “But—”

“No buts. I told you I would do anything, and I just hope you think I’ve delivered.” Mokuba glanced hopefully at the flat, square box sitting all by its lonesome on Anzu’s dining room table. He hoped that the finished libretto was inside.

Anzu followed his gaze and let out a protracted exhale. “Yes, you have, Mokuba.” She walked over to the box and gingerly removed the white lid. Inside a bed of folded tissue paper sat a glossy hardcover book, the familiar silhouette of Yuugi—no, Atem—one arm aloft with a card pinched between two fingers. Underneath in uppercase English letters spanning the width of the book: MILLENNIUM. She held it in an outstretched hand to Mokuba and sat herself in one of the chairs.

“You did it,” Mokuba breathed, taking the book in one hand and flipping through it. “I wasn’t sure if you—” he cut himself off. “I don’t doubt that you **could** do anything, Anzu,” he explained. “But I wasn’t sure if you **would**.”

Nearly every page had photos from the show’s early Broadway performances: some were mid-song, while others featured preparations for the show backstage, and still others from rehearsals, parties, award shows…. Page after page included typewritten notes explaining who was who, and how they came to work on _Millennium_. 

Contrasting pull quotes stretched across the columns of text: reviews from critics, snippets from interviews, lines from the actors, musicians, and crew. And then came the show, broken down line-by-line, each stage direction present, with a thin column of footnotes and secrets revealed: changed lyrics, factual details, even anecdotes about how the lyrics, melody, and choreography came together. 

Anzu let out a faint chuckle. “I wasn’t either. But I remembered what you said, Mokuba. That I ‘deserve to move on, to find happiness again.’ I want that, too. And I knew I couldn’t get it if I kept holding myself back by living in the past, holding onto hurt. And...” Anzu squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before opening them and offering Mokuba a brilliant smile. “And Atem wouldn’t want me to stay like this, either. He’d want me to move on.”

“Malik-san said the same thing,” Mokuba mumbled under his breath.

“‘Malik- **san**?’” Anzu echoed, both her eyebrows raised. “I wasn’t aware you were still in touch with our erstwhile kidnapper.”

“He’s—” Mokuba paused, trying to collect his thoughts. “He said that if Atem taught him one thing, it’s that you have to move on sometime. You have to move on from loss, from hurt, from the past in general. Isn’t that what all of this—” Mokuba gestured to the _Millennium_ libretto, “was about? Telling his story so it wouldn’t be forgotten, but also so we could all process it and move on?”

Anzu nodded slowly. “I suppose. But what does that have to do with—” her lips quivered downward, as if she’d swallowed something particularly gross. “With Malik-san?”

“He’s been trying to move on for years. Make up for everything that he did,” Mokuba told Anzu, beginning to walk around her living room as he spoke. “He’s been putting money back into the people and places he impacted when he ran the Rare Hunters and the Ghouls.”

Mokuba spotted a loaf of bread sitting on a cutting board beside a small dish of a berry-colored jam. He pointed at the loaf and continued, “Did you know he’s this hugely successful ViewTuber? But he doesn’t do anything relating to _Duel Monsters_ , or even to the Gravekeeper Clan. He has this show called _Leavens of the Levant._ He works super-hard every day, baking and filming and editing in **three** different languages! It’s a wonder the guy ever sleeps.” 

Anzu looked down and let out a breathy laugh. “That’s him? I’ve been subscribed to that channel for months. I had no idea.”

“That was the whole idea,” Mokuba said. “He didn’t want people to associate him with the guy he **used** to be. That would prevent him from moving on, finding how who he wants to be now. You can understand that...right?”

“Yeah,” Anzu whispered. “Yeah, I can.” 

“He apologized a whole lot, too. And you know what? I believe him. He’ll be at the exhibition at the end of the month. Why don’t you give him a chance?”

Anzu glanced up at Mokuba with a single eyebrow raised. “You realize _Millennium_ ’s shows start in two days, right? You’ll be lucky if you see me again before New Year’s.”

“Oh,” Mokuba mumbled, his shoulders slumping.

Anzu rose from her seat and reached out to pat Mokuba on the shoulder. “Talk to our rep at Shiki. Get Malik and his family tickets to the show. They’ll be here for at least a few days before and after the exhibition, right? I’m sure we can squeeze in a few more seats.”

Mokuba hesitated. “They’re going on a vacation to Germany with the Schroeders after the exhibition, but...Anzu, are you sure?”

Anzu shook her head and chuckled under her breath. “Mai-san, Malik-kun, and now the Schroeders? It seems like getting to this point involved something of a Who’s Who of familiar faces.”

“Far off places, too,” Mokuba added with a wink.

“It **is** a ‘Mad World,’ isn’t it?” Anzu smiled at his musical reference. “To go from life-or-death card games to producing musicals and running multi-billion-yen gaming companies.”

“It’s a relief, honestly,” Mokuba said. “I’ve...I’ve had a lot of fun the past week, actually. And Seto didn’t even come back right away from his vacation. Said there was no point in coming in for just two days of the work week, so he’ll work remotely and then be back by Monday.”

“Once he got a taste of vacation, he just couldn’t give it up,” Anzu laughed. “You’ll have to tell me where he went when you find out. See if he comes back with a tan or anything.”

Mokuba doubled over in laughter, and when he finally rose up to sitting position again, there were tears in his eyes. “I can’t– I just can’t picture it at all. Even though I **know** —” He chuckled some more, and before long, Anzu joined him.

After a few minutes filling the airy apartment with laughter, they both exhaled and leaned back in their chairs.

“So how was it? Getting in touch with the original cast and all?”

“It was...not that bad, honestly. I did speak to Dan and Eric, and like I thought, they are still together. They were both so ridiculously apologetic, I’m pretty sure we all cried at one point or another on the call.”

Anzu bit her lip and continued. “They— They’re really in love, actually. Eric was just so deep in the closet, he never thought he’d meet ‘The One’ while he was pursuing his dream of being on Broadway.”

“Did you—” Mokuba hesitated. “Did you think Eric was ‘The One’?” Mokuba wrinkled his lips after asking the question. 

"I’m a sappy romantic,” Anzu admitted. “So I think a part of me did, back then. But all these years later...no. It never would have happened, even if he hadn’t cheated on me. Eric was just fooling himself with me. He grew up in this really religious household, and he was terrified that if he came out, he’d never get to see little sister again.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize…” Mokuba trailed off. He still remembered Anzu’s red, tear-streaked face the day she’d discovered Eric and Dan together. He wanted to be furious at Eric, even now, but he just...couldn’t.

_How can I be angry at a guy that had to pretend to be someone he’s not just so he could still see his little sister?_

“Honestly, I’m just happy they’re happy,” Anzu said. “And as for me, I’m going to figure out just who I want to be from here on out. Come December, it’ll finally be time to start writing my **own** story, one outside of theatre.”

As she spoke, Mokuba could see the familiar determined expression spread across Anzu’s face, her blue eyes lit by a new fire within.

 _It’s… been a long time since she’s looked like that,_ Mokuba knew. They’d only seen each other occasionally over the past two years, but she’d looked increasingly tired and worn out… until today.

“I–I’m glad it worked out, Anzu,” Mokuba replied. “And…” he licked his lips, considering an idea. “If you want a job after you’re done with _Millennium_ , Kaiba Corporation would be lucky to have you.”

To Mokuba’s surprise, Anzu didn’t burst out laughing, but she furrowed her brows in confusion. “What would Kaiba Corporation want with a dancer and choreographer?”

“Uh, you mean a multi-award winning producer, writer, dancer, choreographer, historian, and entertainment aficionado?” Mokuba corrected her. “I’m pretty sure we could do a lot with your help. _Millennium_ was the first show where we really tried to use Solid Vision for a lengthy performance, and we did it over and over again. And we used it in ways that we never had before with _Duel Monsters_. Imagine if we had a whole department dedicated to coming up with ideas like that. You could run it.”

This time, Anzu did laugh. “And go to board meetings with your brother? I don’t think so.”

Mokuba scowled at her, “He’s not that bad!” 

Anzu kept giggling, so Mokuba added, “I’m serious. Even if you don’t want to be in charge, you could be a Special Consultant, or a Developmental Manager or something. Hell, we could come up with a job title, just for you!”

Her amusement faded and Anzu stared at Mokuba, her head tilted to one side. “You **are** serious aren’t you? Well… I’ll think about it. We still have a few months before I can even consider pivoting to a whole new career, anyway.”

“Great!” Mokuba slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. He had to collect the libretto and get on his way to see Pegasus; he only had two days left before Seto came back.

“Everyone signed something,” Anzu said, gesturing at the book. “Photos or notecards. Some people even submitted stories. It took me a few days to get everything all organized and bound up, but I got it done. I hope… I hope it does the job and you get the paintings from Pegasus.”

“Oh I will,” Mokuba assured her. “After everything, I won’t leave that island without them.”

“What **other** things did you end up doing in order to get this, anyway? Since you said you talked to Mai-san and Malik-kun, I mean.”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Mokuba admitted, “but the short version is that I got the dress from Mai who wanted me to trade-in her car, which I did with Honda, who made me get him fancy reservations at some restaurant so he could propose to Shizuka, which Otogi helped me get, but only if I got him a revised ad contract, so I had to talk to Malik to talk to Isis, and then he wanted that ski vacation I told you about, and since I had to call Jounouchi for the exhibition anyway and he was in Germany with the Schroeders, he hooked me up with the vacation so long as we let him debut the new Duel Disk at the big event.”

Mokuba took in a deep breath after he finished. Anzu was staring at him in open-mouthed shock.

“...That was the short version?” she mumbled. “Wait, you said Honda is proposing to Shizuka-chan!?”

“Yup, this Christmas Eve,” Mokuba affirmed. “I actually got them some pretty good seats to _Millennium_ that evening, since that was part of the deal I made with him.”

Anzu smiled. “I’ll be sure to greet them, then. I hope Shizuka-chan accepts. I want to see what her ring will look like.”

“Knowing Honda, I kind of doubt he’s even thought about it yet. Did you know he didn’t even know tickets sold out months in advance? He’s lucky I added in those tickets so he wouldn't give me grief about needing Mai’s car in two days.”

“Really?” Anzu laughed. “Well, I know you have to get going, but I expect you to join me for dinner on one of my off nights so you can give me all the details.”

“Deal,” Mokuba said with a grin, and he thrust out a hand. Anzu looked down at it and pulled Mokuba into a tight hug. 

“Deal,” she whispered over her shoulder. “Thank you, Mokuba. I doubt I would be here now if it weren’t for you.”

“I don’t! You’d have gotten here, one way or the other. That’s just the kind of person you are. You never give up,” Mokuba responded, refusing to let the tears pooling at his lash line escape.

 _Even if we’re always just friends, I— For me, that’s enough,_ Mokuba realized. _Malik-san’s right. We’ve all got to move on from the past._

“Thank you,” Anzu repeated in a soft murmur, her arms still tight around Mokuba’s torso. “For everything. Always.”

“Hey,” Mokuba gently pushed her out from him, and fixed her with a stare. “That’s my line.”

And they both laughed again, until Mokuba finally made his way out Anzu’s apartment door, libretto in hand at last.


	12. Standby Mode

**October 6**

**—Pegasus Island—**

Pegasus was, to the surprise of no one, quite chatty upon Mokuba’s arrival.

_ He still switches between Japanese and English at the drop of a hat, _ Mokuba thought, and it made his head hurt.

But when they arrived at the same room Mokuba had been in before, and Mokuba handed over the libretto, Pegasus took the book in stiff hands and collapsed into one of his chairs, staring at it in absolute silence.

Mokuba wasn’t sure what to say as Pegasus thumbed through each page, pausing on the two-page spread featuring the cast in their Duelist Kingdom costumes, with a few Solid Vision extras sitting or kneeling in the foreground, including a beautiful blonde girl in a lavender dress adorned with a single rose.

“Cyndia…” Pegasus murmured. 

Mokuba swallowed a lump in his throat, gathering the courage to speak. “She– We wanted to include her in the story, but...well, we thought it might be disrespectful to her memory. It was one thing asking you to sign off on your likeness, but…”

“It’s quite all right, Mokuba-kun,” Pegasus murmured without looking up. His hands traced the curves of “Cyndia’s” face for a moment before he looked up, a strained smile on his face. 

He turned the pages back to the title page, where someone had written in metallic ink:  _ Millennium is a story about growing up. It’s about our changing understanding of the world, including the fact that not everyone gets a chance to tell their own story. But we can still learn from those people, those stories. It’s taken me a long time to understand the person you were all those years ago, Pegasus-san, but after more than a dozen years of missing Atem, I think I finally get it: what it means to be so desperate to see someone, even one more time, that you don’t care who or what you destroy along the way. _

_ But I believe the people we’ve lost would want us to be happy, to move on but still remember them with what we do, and who we choose to be every day of our lives. Let  _ Millennium _ ’s story be the foundation for a happy future that you create with your own two hands. I know it will for me. —Mazaki Anzu _

Pegasus bowed his head, his long silvery hair covering his face. His back shuddered for a moment, and Mokuba wasn’t sure—

_ Is he– Is he crying? Should I say something? _

But before he could, Pegasus looked up, a few stray tears still tracking their way down his cheeks. 

“My favorite song in the show is  _ Unimaginable _ ,” he said. “It did an excellent job encapsulating the feeling of loss. How...how it takes time to process, how you lose sight of the world around you.”

“We used Solid Vision to turn everything gray for that song,” Mokuba remembered. “The critics couldn’t believe their eyes. Our lighting designer won a bunch of awards for that.”

“I know,” Pegasus murmured. “You may not have noticed me, but I was there.”

Mokuba blinked several times in rapid succession. “You– When?”

“Opening night,” Pegasus explained. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“You mean the San Francisco opening?” Mokuba asked. Sure, Pegasus could probably afford to go to any Broadway show he wanted, but he was a notorious recluse even after Dartz’s hostile takeover of both Industrial Illusions and Kaiba Corporation. He’d only begun showing his face in public again shortly after Battle City, when he publicly admitted that he’d been in a coma since Duelist Kingdom. He’d only recently started visiting the Duel Academias around the world, but never anywhere else—not to Mokuba’s knowledge, anyway.

“No, Mokuba-kun,” Pegasus said with a mild smile, “New York. July 11th, three years ago.”

“Oh! Oh...I— I didn’t know. I wish you would have told us, we could have invited you backstage, or to the after-party, or—”

Pegasus held up a hand to silence Mokuba. “That was not my point in telling you, Mokuba-kun. I know we have met up on a few occasions since Duelist Kingdom—”

_ At the Duel Dome during Big Brother’s duel with that Anubis guy. And… _

There had been other times, Mokuba knew, but he’d replaced those memories—darkened with fear and tinged with the taste of bile—with brighter, happier ones.

_ I used to be so scared of Pegasus… _ And now, here he was, back at Pegasus’ island, all by himself. No duels, no Big Brother, no Millennium Items. Just a conversation between two creators. Mokuba found himself smiling.

_ I guess Malik-san and Anzu aren’t the only ones who need to move on, _ he thought.  _ Maybe… _

“We all need to go at our own pace,” Mokuba blurted. “With moving on and grieving, I mean. And coming to terms with what we’ve done.”

Pegasus nodded slowly. “You’re far wiser than your years would indicate, Mokuba-kun. Very wise, indeed.”

Mokuba found his cheeks reddening at the unexpected compliment, but before he could say anything, Pegasus continued. 

“My way of…‘grieving’ perhaps wasn’t the best way. Nor the healthiest.”

“But it made sense,” Mokuba interjected. “I mean, I didn’t find out until after I was off the island, but Anzu...she told me what your diary said, on the ride back to Japan.”

“I assumed as much,” Pegasus responded. “Now, to business, yes?”

Pegasus rose to his feet and walked to the corner of the room where a pair of wrapped, framed paintings sat, along with an assortment of boxes, packing materials, and cut sheets of a transparent sort of paper Mokuba had never seen before.

“You– you knew I’d be able to get the libretto?” Mokuba asked, pointing at the boxes. “You got everything ready even though I hadn't so much as emailed you to tell you how I was doing?”

“Hmm, well, I suppose I  **should** say that was the case, as I never truly doubted you would come through. I was, after all, the one who told you about the paintings in the first place.”

Mokuba blanched, remembering the mysterious direct message he’d gotten on Chirper nearly two weeks ago.

“Y–You’re FB10…” Mokuba trailed off, realizing that the numbers corresponded perfectly to what Pegasus had told him when he’d first returned to the island:

_ “Your brother isn’t the only one with a birthday in October, you know. I’ll be having my own little fête just two weeks before.” _

FB100875: what had looked like a totally spammy account name, maybe even a bot, turned out to be none other than Pegasus J. Crawford himself, using a username style straight out of Mokuba’s childhood!

“Indeed, indeed!” Pegasus exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “FB for my favorite cartoon, of course.”

“Funny Bunny,” Mokuba and Pegasus said at the same time, Mokuba’s voice flat compared to Pegasus’ enthusiastic pronouncement. 

Mokuba slapped a hand to his forehead. “Why didn’t I figure it out sooner?”

Pegasus leaned over and smiled at him, a sheath of silvery hair covering his empty eye socket. “Perhaps you didn’t need to, dear Mokuba-kun. You are here now, and we both have what we want. And I have no indeed to address these boxes to the Tenma Gallery in San Francisco after all.”

“Yeah, right…” Mokuba chuckled under his breath. “So I can just— I can have these?”

“Do you want me to change my mind?” Pegasus asked him with a raised eyebrow. 

“No, no, no way! Thank you very much, Pegasus-san,” Mokuba bowed and dashed toward the boxes, sealing them up with a nearby roll of packing tape and hefting them into one arm each.

Pegasus let out a hearty laugh before saying, “Mokuba-kun, Crocketts will be happy to assist you with the boxes…”

Mokuba awkwardly shifted the corner of one box from his hip to his knee, and looked in the doorway, only to find a bespectacled Crocketts staring at him with an amused smile pushing up his moustache into his cheeks.

“Oh, really…? Thank you, Crocketts…”

Crocketts and Mouba were almost out the door when Pegasus called out, “Do be sure to unpack the paintings carefully, Mokuba-kun. There may be a  **surprise** or two in there for you and your brother.”

Mokuba shot a worried glance at Crocketts, who only shook his head and smiled. “You’re the one that told him it was Mr. Kaiba’s birthday in two weeks…”

* * *

**October 9**

**—** **_The Duel Standby: Bringing You the Latest Duelist News from Around the World_ ** **—**

**Posted by:** RHFirePrincess **at** 9:30 a.m.

**Tagged:** Pegasus J. Crawford, Art, Rumors & Secrets

**Location:** San Francisco, California

_ Duel Monsters _ creator and prolific painter Pegasus J. Crawford just celebrated his 38th birthday and the opening of his art auction, MILLENNIUM, last night at San Francisco’s opulent Fairmont Hotel in a star-studded affair that lasted well into the wee hours.

In attendance were numerous scions of business and technology from around the world, as well as a select few champion duelists, including yours truly. Kaiba Corporation USA’s President and Vice President also attended, as well as student representatives from Duel Academias around the world. 

Limited-edition, hand-signed prints of some of Pegasus’ rarer card art went for upwards of $1,500 in some cases, with online bids steadily creeping upward by the second. By the time the party wrapped, every single print of fan-favorite Black Magician Girl had been snapped up, including those featuring the apprentice magician alongside her teacher, the world-famous Black Magician card, such as “Magic Expand” and “Magician's Combination.”

Speaking of other world-famous cards, when asked why the original oil painting of the ultra-rare Blue-Eyes White Dragon card—valued at over $10 million USD—no longer appeared on the auction block, Mr. Crawford told  _ Duel Standby _ that the dragon “found its own way home.” What that means, I’ll leave up to you, readers and duelists, because this reporter frankly has no idea. 

The MILLENNIUM art auction features 1,000 lots of Mr. Crawford’s original  _ Duel Monsters _ art as well as many of his other pieces, previously featured at the Tenma Arts Gallery in downtown San Francisco. Bidding is open through November 20, though individual lots have various closing dates, so be sure to “watch” the prints you have your eye on, lest you get sniped by a D.D. Bidder!! New lots are made available on a daily basis, but the next day’s lots aren’t announced until 9:30 Pacific Time the night before. 

Mr. Crawford announced that 50 percent of the proceeds from the auction would go toward funding scholarships for students to Duel Academias anywhere in the world, and could be used for tuition, room, board, and for credit at Academia card stores.

Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a few art pieces I’ve got to get bidding on…

Catch you on the flip side, friends!

DUEL, STANDBY!

* * *

**October 11**

**–Harajuku, Omotesando Street, Tokyo—**

Seto returned to Kaiba Corporation on October 7, no tanner than he was when he left, but noticeably relaxed, if one judged solely by his posture. That Friday, he and Mokuba made their way to Jacques Mode’s Tokyo atelier.

“Why won’t you tell me where you went on your vacation, Big Brother?” Mokuba asked as they exited their vehicle, this one one of the company’s classic black towncars.

“Why don’t you tell me how you didn’t spend a single yen out of trust fund for three years while you were getting your undergraduate education at one of the most prestigious and expensive universities in the United States?” Seto countered.

“I’ll tell you!” Mokuba shot back. “I’ve never said it was a secret. So here’s what I—”

Seto raised a finger and silenced Mokuba. The street they had to cross to get to the atelier was thick with people, any of whom might recognize the Kaiba brothers and pounce on a juicy piece of information spoken just a bit too loudly in public. “Time and place, Mokuba. Time and place.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mokuba grumbled as he trailed after his older brother. “Killjoy.”

A few minutes later, they made it to the shop, a glass-walled storefront with a pair of sculptural dress forms arranged in either window. Each was draped in the latest Jacques Mode fashions, some of which Mokuba had seen at Paris Fashion Week. An elegant chime sounded as they stepped inside, and a moment later, a familiar face appeared. 

“Kaiba-sama,” Mai nodded politely to Seto, “Mokuba-kun. It’s good to see you again.” 

Mai leaned forward and placed her manicured hands on Mokuba’s shoulders before proceeding to give him a European kiss on each cheek, which he went along with as if he’d been expecting it the entire time.

“Mai-san, you’re looking radiant today,” Mokuba told her after she released his shoulders and turned to lead them into the atelier proper. He could feel Seto’s eyes boring a hole in his back, but he refused to turn around and give him the pleasure of appearing embarrassed just because a beautiful older woman had kissed him on the face.

_ There’s no way I want to explain to Seto why I’ve seen Mai-san recently, anyway _ , Mokuba thought. He’d had a hard enough time trying to tell the story piecemeal to people like Jounouchi.

“Flirt,” Mai mumbled under her breath. “But thank you.”

“Kaiba-sama, if you’ll wait here, Jacques will be with you shortly to handle the final fitting and tailoring of your suit. Mokuba-kun, if you’ll come with me, I’ll lead you to the dressing room where you can try on yours.”

For a split second, it looked to Mokuba as though Seto had something to say, but no words came. He just gave a curt nod and waited in the brightly lit room’s central fitting platform. He looked like an awkwardly posed mannequin, to Mokuba’s eye, but soon he rounded a corner with Mai and could no longer see the reflection of his brother on the mirrored walls.

Mai pulled a sleek garment bag from a rack and brushed aside a thick, velvety curtain separating a row of small rooms from a side corridor.

“Here’s your suit,” Mai said, turning to Mokuba as she hung the bag from a hook on the wall. “Your measurements in the Solid Vision system were more up-to-date than your brother’s, so Jacques doesn’t think you’ll need much in the way of tailoring, but we always like to check, especially if you’ve never gotten a custom order from us before.” 

She gently pulled on the bag’s golden zipper and revealed a dark blue coat patterned with familiar gold hieroglyphs. Two black shawl-style lapels dipped down, the left side covering the right and meeting at two pairs of ornate golden fasteners with delicate golden cording wound around them. A pair of matching black trousers hung from the same hanger.

“We weren’t sure of your preference for dress shirts, but we have a few coordinating options in navy, black, gold, or white. Once you select one, I can bring out matching ties and pocket squares, if you want,” Mai told Mokuba. 

“I trust your judgement, Mai-san; I’ll go with whatever you think matches best,” Mokuba replied, smiling at Mai as he started thumbing open his jacket.

Mai’s mouth dropped open a fraction before she turned away, her pink cheeks visible in the corridor’s triple-paned mirror.

“I appreciate you, Mokuba-kun,” Mai murmured. “You’re not like— like a lot of other people in your social class, or even your age group.”

“That better be a good thing,” Mokuba responded cheekily. He pulled the curtain shut as he peeled off his dress shirt and began toeing off his loafers. He heard a muffled chuckle from the other side of the curtain, and the clack-clack of Mai’s heels as she walked away to get Mokuba his shirts.

_ I hope this means she and Jounouchi got a chance to really talk the other day. _ He hadn’t spent enough time around Mai to know for sure whether or not her genial attitude indicated she’d made up with Jounouchi or not.

By the time Mai returned, Mokuba had changed into the suit pants and replaced his loafers. He tried wearing the jacket slung over his shoulder, just to imagine what color might look good, but his shirtless reflection—holding up a vest with one hand and a jacket slung over his shoulder in the other—provoked too much laughter.

“What are you chuckling about in there?” Mai asked. “I have your shirts. White’s traditional, but a soft gold could work, too. If you went with navy or black, you might be too dark on top. I guess it depends on if you’re going to wear your hair up or not.”

“You’re not worried about a navy shirt appearing too matchy-matchy with the jacket?” Mokuba asked. A part of him was tempted to throw the curtain open, just to see how Mai’d react, but he knew he shouldn’t.

“Take a look,” Mai said, and she thrust her hand with the shirts in through the curtain. 

Mokuba took each of the four proffered shirts and went about trying them on one at a time, first adding the vest, and then the jacket if he liked the look. He was midway through trying the navy shirt—a matte silk option so as to not be too hot with the thick jacket—when he decided to just  **ask** Mai about how things had gone with Jounouchi.

“You should come to the exhibition, Mai-san,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. 

_ She’s going to say she’s already going as Jounouchi’s plus one, or that she'll only go in a professional capacity as the head of this atelier, or no way in hell; she doesn’t duel anymore and doesn’t go to those kind of events, or— _

“Hmm, I might. I’m still thinking about it,” she responded, but her voice didn’t sound sad or angry or anything like that. If anything, it seemed a little…

_ Wistful? _

“Well, what do you think?” Mokuba asked, thrusting open the curtain. While he liked the look of the navy shirt, and the gold one  **did** provide some unexpected textural contrast between the silk facing of his lapels and the velvet of his jacket, the white shirt just looked  **sharp** . 

_ Is this why Big Brother always wears white suits when he has a fancy event? _

Most days at Kaiba Corporation, if Seto didn’t have a bombastic television appearance to make (in which case his custom tailored jackets—studded collars, big shoulders and all— made a rare appearance), Seto usually wore black suits, black shirts, and silver or ice blue ties. He claimed it made things easy in the morning: if his jacket, trousers, and shirt were all the same color, then he didn’t have to worry about anything else. It wasn’t as if someone would deign to tell the CEO of Kaiba Corporation that his tie really didn’t complement his skin tone or his eyes, or his slacks actually were more of a charcoal black compared to his ink black shirt. But even Seto Kaiba needed to get dry cleaning every now and again, and that meant sometimes he had to resort to wearing navy suits, or heaven forbid,  **gray** ones.

_ So he’s got to wear something totally opposite to stand out, I guess? _ Mokuba thought.  _ I suppose I can see the logic in that.  _ After all, that was why he wanted his own custom suit after years of refusing to show up in anything more than his standard dress shirt and slacks. He didn’t want to keep showing up as merely "Seto Kaiba’s little brother.” 

_ I’m 24 years old, dammit! _

Mai tilted her head and gave Mokuba a once-over, her violet eyes raking him up and down, Mokuba almost shivered in place, but he swallowed the feeling before it could manifest as anything other than goosebumps crawling up his forearms.

“I think you’ve got good taste, Mokuba-kun. Brains and style: a winning combination, if I do say so myself.”

They walked back to the fitting area where Seto stood, his arms spread out as Jacques Mode weaved around him with the speed of a bee, flitting to and fro with a tape measure and notepad.

“Well Big Brother, what do you think?” Mokuba asked, striking a pose and then turning. “Am I too sexy for my shirt?”

Mai stifled a laugh with her hand, and Seto fixed Mokuba with a glare, but he didn’t respond right away. Seto’s gaze drifted back to his own reflection across from him in a mirror, stiff to the point of appearing inhuman.

“You look fine, Mokuba. The pattern’s a little loud for my taste—”

Jacques Mode snapped the tape measure around one of Seto’s wrists a bit too tightly, drawing Seto’s ire in his direction. 

“ _ Veuillez m'excuser, Monsieur Kaiba _ ,” Jacques murmured, not once pausing in his measurements and pin placements.

“...but it looks good on you,” Seto finished. “The more important question is, do  **you** like it?”

“Hell yeah I do!” Mokuba exclaimed. “I’m thinking I’ll go for a cool bow tie instead of a regular tie, too. And maybe a nice pocket square.”

Jacques Mode looked up from his measurements with a mild smile on his face; Mokuba could tell the designer appreciated his enthusiasm.

“Fine,” Seto grumbled out. “If you need any additional tailoring, take care of it now. These measurements have to see us through until the exhibition. We can pick up the final alterations next week.”

Some twenty minutes later, Mokuba and Seto both changed out of their suits and were back in their regular clothes and headed back to the towncar, unfortunately parked in a structure a few blocks from the atelier.

“What’s with you and Kujaku?” Seto asked as they weaved their way through afternoon pedestrian traffic. Seto didn’t look Mokuba’s way, but Mokuba knew his brother wasn’t just asking to make small talk.

“Oh, we ran into each other at Paris Fashion Week,” Mokuba explained.

_ Which is totally the truth. No white lies here! _

“That’s right, I saw you took the company jet out to Europe. Why did you go to Paris for Fashion Week?” This time Seto did turn to Mokuba, his piercing gaze silently challenging Mokuba to try and lie to him.

Mokuba would have swallowed, wondering just how Seto had found out about the trip, but he couldn’t let Seto rattle him. If this was just another test to see if Mokuba could handle having actual  **responsibilities** , after all the hard work he’d done to EARN this spot, well, then…

“You told me to arrange a fitting for your suit, and there was this note for me to get a suit, too.” Mokuba thumbed back in the direction of Mode’s atelier, “And since this place was closed for Fashion Week, I figured it made sense to at least go to Mode’s show, see what he might do for me. How can I know what’s trendy if I don’t go to the shows, you know?”

“I wasn’t aware you cared so much about being on-trend,” Seto replied flatly. 

Mokuba shrugged. “You’ve got your style, I’ve got mine. It  **was** technically for business, you know.”

“I never said it wasn’t,” Seto said.

“So does that answer your question?” Mokuba prompted after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the sound of crosswalks beeping and cars honking. “I only met up with Mai-san since she was at the show too, and she helped me arrange for this fitting, even though it was really soon after they got back from Fashion Week.” 

“You’re on a first-name basis with her, I see,” Seto said after a minute.

“I’ve known her since I was  **ten** , Seto. Besides, I don’t like being called ‘Kaiba-sama,’ and it’s just plain weird calling someone you’ve known for so long by their family name.”

They stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the light to change. When Seto spoke next, his voice came out uncharacteristically soft, just barely above a whisper. It was a wonder Mokuba heard him at all, over all the street sounds.

“I wasn’t aware you didn’t like being called by your family name.”

Mokuba sucked in a deep breath. He hadn’t wanted to have this conversation with Seto—not here, not now. 

_ But I guess it needs to get said, sooner rather than later. _

“It’s  **not** my family name, though. It’s Gozaburo’s. We got saddled with it and all the baggage it came with, too. No one ever said we had to keep it.”

The light changed, and Mokuba started walking, but Seto remained frozen on the sidewalk. Mokuba shifted his jaw and hurried back. 

“Why didn’t you change it when you turned 20 then?” Seto asked, stepping forward once Mokuba was within a meter of him. They walked at a brisk pace now, crossing the long street before the light could change and impatient drivers could get a shot at running them over.

“...’Cause it would have made headline news? I can see it now: ‘Kaiba VP Distances himself from Brother’s Multi-Billion Yen Company: Scandalous Details Inside! ’Any decision I make doesn’t just affect me, it affects you and the company,” Mokuba said as they walked down the sloping path of the garage to the car. 

“Or maybe because it doesn’t matter what newspapers and strangers and talking heads call me, it matters what my friends and family call me, which is my name: Mokuba.”

Before long, they arrived at the car, but Seto stood outside the driver side door, unmoving. Mokuba tried the door handle on the passenger side, but it remained locked.

“Bro, are we going, or…?”

Seto visibly swallowed before looking up at Mokuba with darkened eyes. “So when others call me ‘Kaiba-sama,’ it just reminds you of  **him** .”

“Of Gozaburo? Yeah,” Mokuba said, shifting his weight to one side and leaning his hip against the car. “He’s not the boogie man though, Seto, I’m not afraid to say his name.”

“So then why does it matter that we kept his surname? That we didn’t change the name of the company?”

“It doesn’t,” Mokuba replied with a shrug. “Like I said, by the time I was old enough to consider it as a possibility, I knew what kind of an impact it would have. Even if we just changed  **our** names, it would still put a dent in the company’s reputation. Bad enough we’re still dealing with investors who remember Dartz’s shenanigans and hesitate because of that. Doing vanity stuff like name changes just doesn’t make sense—not then, and not now.” 

“But do those risks really outweigh all the baggage that comes with the Kaiba name?” Seto asked as he unlocked the doors and they both got in the car.

Mokuba turned to look at his brother, who had yet to so much as put his key in the ignition. 

“You tell me, Seto. I’m just your VP.”

The sound of Seto slamming his hands down on the steering wheel took Mokuba by surprise so much that he jolted against the passenger door. Seto wasn’t violent, Ruthless in business, sure. He could be loud and forceful or quiet and seething, but he was never violent .

“You’re not ‘just’ my VP, Mokuba. You’re my brother, dammit. You’re the only family I’ve got.”

_ Is Big Brother getting… choked up? _ A froggy quality Mokuba had never really heard before entered Seto’s voice.  _ Maybe he’s coming down with something? _

Mokuba rolled his tongue around in his mouth for a moment before deciding to give voice to his thoughts.

“Is that because you’re too afraid to get close to someone, or too scared to let me go?”

Seto inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, even as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. He leaned back into his seat slightly, but he didn’t move to put on his seatbelt.

“...Both, probably.”

_ I figured. I just didn’t expect Seto to admit it. Not out loud, anyway _ , Mokuba realized.

“Have you ever thought about getting in touch with them again? Our aunts and uncles, I mean?” Mokuba asked. Over the years, he’d been curious about them; looked them up from time to time, to see how the family was doing. On a number of occasions, he’d been surprised that the family  **didn’t** seek them out… but maybe they didn’t realize that the famous Kaiba brothers were the orphans they’d left behind at the orphanage?

But the more Mokuba tried to remember that day, the hazier his memories seemed to become. 

_ So much of what I thought I knew about back then is straight from Seto’s mouth. And even he was only eight years old when our dad died…. _

“Why would I bother getting in touch with people that spent our inheritance and then disposed of us like we were the week’s trash?” Seto said disdainfully. He opened his eyes and scowled at the cement wall in front of them, as if it somehow reflected the faces of their relatives.

“Is that really how it happened, Seto?” Mokuba asked under his breath. “You were eight. No one would fault you if you got some of the details wrong.”

“I didn’t—” Seto shouted, twisting to face Mokuba. He swallowed his words and jerked back upon seeing the expression on Mokuba’s face.

With a resolute set to his jaw, Seto clicked his seatbelt into place and started up the car. Mokuba followed suit, and they were on the road in a matter of moments, the car thick with silence. Even the outside sounds were muffled by the towncar’s superior soundproofing, and Mokuba began to fidget, tapping one foot on the carpeted floor.

“I—” he began. 

_ Who am I kidding, I don’t know how to do this!  _ It was one thing to insist Seto help others—treat Yuugi and Anzu and all of them like friends. He’d been doing that—in his way—for years now. But Mokuba had never dared to outright state that Seto was  **wrong** .

“Half the family was going bankrupt due to a bad real estate deal when Dad died,” Mokuba finally said, staring up at the sun visor on his side of the car. 

“One of our aunts-in-law got diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer, and the family got into a big fight about whether to pay for her chemo or try and help the relatives get out of their financial trouble, since they, you know, were going to  **live** , presumably.”

Street after street, Mokuba told Seto what he’d learned about their remaining biological family years ago, and snippets he’d gleaned in the time since. His brother remained silent the whole way.

“Then one of our cousins committed suicide,” Mokuba said softly. “Threw herself in front of a train. She was getting bullied really badly at school, but because of everything going on, nobody in the family noticed how much she’d withdrawn from them, how sad she was.”

“And then we showed up,” Mokuba finished. “It’s not like I’ve ever gotten in touch with any of them, but I’m trying to imagine what kind of life we’d have had with any one of our aunts and uncles while all of that was going on.”

“...It would have been better than Gozaburo, I’m sure,” Seto muttered.

“Maybe in some ways,” Mokuba admitted. “But probably not in others. I’m never going to pretend like Gozaburo was a saint for adopting us. It was good PR for him, nothing more.”

“Why haven’t you reached out to them, then?” Seto asked after a breath. “You’ve had plenty of opportunities.”

“True,” Mokuba said. “But every time I thought about it, I thought ‘I should be doing this with Seto.’ So I never did.”

“But you’ve never even mentioned it before today,” Seto countered.

“You’ve never asked about my friends!” Mokuba retorted. “Even in college, you just— you only cared about how my classes were going, about how my training was progressing. I tried to tell you about moving out of the dorms, getting my own apartment with some friends…” Mokuba trailed off.

“All this started just because I said I didn’t like being called ‘Kaiba-sama.’ Maybe we’d’ve been better off if I never said anything.”

“You can’t undo what’s been done, Mokuba,” Seto finally said. And, after a breath, he added, “No one can.”

All this back-and-forth made Mokuba’s head hurt. He adjusted his seat to lean further backward and cast one last look in his brother’s direction before he decided to just close his eyes and rest a bit.

“We might not be able to change the past, Seto, but you’ve always told me that we get to decide our future,” he said. 

_ And I believe it, every word, even today. _

Destiny was a cool concept and all, but the world seemed much more exhilarating if one treated it as an exploratory journey or a series of unique challenges to overcome. Where was the fun in just walking down one path, never even bothering to look down the other trails, or to forge one yourself? What good was it to march on, all alone?

“But,” Mokuba continued, “that doesn’t mean you get forever to make up your mind. The world will keep going while you’re analyzing all the data and trying to choose the most logical option. And all the while, you’ll push the people who care about you away, to a place where you can’t reach.”

And with that, Mokuba pulled his suit jacket over his head and promptly fell asleep, not waking until after they’d arrived at Kaiba Corporation’s underground garage and Seto had already left the car.


	13. Speech, Speech, Speech!

**October 25**

**—Kaiba Hotel, Domino—**

The next two weeks passed by before Mokuba even realized it. After their “talk” in the car on the way home from their fitting, Seto seemed to make a point of avoiding Mokuba whenever and wherever he could. He had an assistant pick up their suits from the atelier; Isono kept showing up at convenient times to ask Mokuba for help with this project or talking to that department head... and he was never in his— **their!** —office when Mokuba found a moment to get up there.

_ And the exhibition is opening today, and as far as I can tell, Seto’s missing in action! What the heck am I supposed to do?!  _ Mokuba thought as he struggled to straighten his bowtie in one of the many Kaiba Hotel penthouse suite mirrors. No matter what he did, it always seemed to slope downward at a 45 degree angle.

He’d already scoped out the perfect place to put one of Seto’s new paintings, but he wanted it to be a surprise, so he had housekeeping hang onto the box and put it up for him precisely when he knew his brother was  **supposed** to be on stage.

_ What do I do if he doesn’t show up at all? I’ve been pushing for more autonomy in the company, but this isn’t what I meant! _

Right as Mokuba growled at his reflection and undid his bowtie for the umpteenth time, he heard the suite door unlock.

“Seto?” Mokuba craned his neck back from the vanity area and looked toward the entrance. Indeed, Seto stood before him, already dressed in his perfectly tailored suit, the color of new snow. But Seto had traded his usual ice blue dress shirt for a deep turquoise, the likes of which Mokuba hadn’t seen in more than a decade, and a tie the color of sapphires.

“Hey, can you help me with my tie?” Mokuba asked, opting to not bring up that Seto had basically ignored him for two weeks straight—something of a new record, unfortunately.

_ I don’t want to scare him off. _

Not that Mokuba really thought himself capable of scaring Seto...not in any meaningful way, at least.

Seto seemed to let out a breath before striding forward. Without a word, he took the loose ends of Mokuba’s tie in his fingers, but he hesitated before actually doing anything with them.

“Butterfly or batwing?” Seto asked, his voice coming out just a bit gruff.

“A what with a who now?” Mokuba asked, one eyebrow twitching at the bizarre question.

“Types of bow tie styles,” Seto sighed. “You should have gotten a pre-tied one if you didn’t know how to tie one.”

Mokuba scowled. “I thought it would be like tying my shoes! It’s not my fault that this thing is all weird-shaped!”

Seto let out a snort that Mokuba supposed was a form of laughter and resumed tying, apparently having made up his own mind about what sort of bow tie style would best suit Mokuba’s first-ever custom suit. 

They were nearly the same height, Mokuba perhaps having a centimeter over his brother at this point, if just by virtue of his thicker hair. When he smiled at Seto, he was glad to see Seto’s shoulders lose just a fraction of their tension.

“I invited them,” Seto murmured as he finished wrapping one end of the tie over another. 

“Invited who?” Mokuba asked, trying not to swallow too hard, lest Seto’s efforts go to waste because his hapless younger brother got a coughing fit from trying to wear a bow tie for five seconds.

“...Our relatives,” Seto said after a minute. “The ones I could find, anyway. Sent them an official invitation with a press release and a photo of us inside.”

Mokuba blinked in mute astonishment. Of all the things Seto could have said,  **that** hadn’t been anywhere on Mokuba’s mental list.

“There, a good butterfly bow tie,” Seto pronounced, patting the tie when he was done. He took a step back as Mokuba glanced sideways into the mirror, a grin stretching across his face. 

_ Of course Seto came through in the end.  _

He always did, didn’t he?

“Do you think they’ll come?” Mokuba asked under his breath. “I mean, will they even recognize us from the pictures?”

“They might not,” Seto answered honestly, looking at the floor. “They might just treat it as junk mail, or be busy, or any number of other things.”

“But,” Mokuba hesitated, furrowing his brows. “They might also show up. And if they do…”

“If they do, they can come and find us.”

“But did your invitation say anything like that? I mean, what if they think it’s just some sort of party invitation, and they have no idea that we’re here, or who we are to them? I mean, do you even know what they look like?” Mokuba couldn't help himself; the questions just kept coming one after another.

“It didn’t,” Seto said, sighing. “And they might. And no, I don’t know what they look like. They’re not in any of our databases, and I couldn’t find any photos to go along with their mentions in news articles.” He looked down at the floor. “Except for our cousin’s memorial photo.”

“Oh,” Mokuba whispered.

Seto sucked in a deep breath. “We can’t change anything about their actions,” he said, his voice louder than before. “Tonight is meant to be a celebration for us—all of us at the company, and all of our students at the Duel Academias around the world. I refuse to let even the possibility of family drama change that.”

"You're right, bro,” Mokuba affirmed. “But we do have  **another** reason to celebrate…” he trailed off meaningfully.

Seto wrinkled his nose. “It’s not important.”

“You turning 30 isn’t important?” Mokuba wheeled on his feet and marched over to Seto so he could stand in front of him and grip his brother’s shoulders with both hands. “Like fun it isn’t! It’s important to me!”

“Why?” Seto asked. “It’s just another day.”

“No,” Mokuba insisted. “It’s not. Not to me, and it shouldn’t be to you, either. Stop talking like Gozaburo’s still around and going to walk in any second. He’s dead and gone, okay?”

“I–” Seto pursed his lips together in a tight line. “I know that.”

“I know you  **know** it in here,” Mokuba said, tapping the side of his head. “But do you really believe it in here?” He pressed a finger to the left side of Seto’s chest. “You act like you don’t have a heart, but I know I’m not the only one who knows you’ve got a big one. Made of gold.”

Seto rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even make biological sense.”

“It’s an expression, Seto!” Mokuba groaned.

“I know,” Seto said after a few breaths. “I know. I just— being born isn’t an accomplishment. Not for the person being born, anyway.”

“Be real with me: do you remember any of your birthdays when Mom and Dad were still around?”

Seto’s lips stayed pressed together in a thin line, but he closed his eyes tightly, as if the harder he squeezed, the faster a memory might surface from the depths of his brain.

“Just one,” he said after a minute. “My fifth. I think… I think it was when I got my first LEGO set. And I had strawberry cake.” The memory seemed to make him smile, if just for a split second.

“You smiled just now,” Mokuba pointed out. “So it’s a good memory. Don’t you think you deserve to make  **more** of those?”

“Mokuba…” Seto shook his head, but he didn’t say anything else as he headed back toward the suite door. Seconds before he arrived, the bell rang, and Seto opened it to reveal Isono in his black-tie best.

“Seto-sama, Mokuba-sama,” Isono addressed the two of them. “It’s time.”

_ Showtime, you mean, _ Mokuba thought, smirking. He’d give Seto a birthday he’d remember for the rest of his life.

* * *

About ten minutes later, Isono, Mokuba, and Seto entered the Grand Ballroom, the location for the official opening ceremonies for the exhibition. They came in through a side door close to the temporary stage that the hotel provided, complete with a sleek glass podium. Aside from a petite bottle of water, the rest of the stage was empty: of people, of chairs, of  **anything** .

_ Ugh, why did I agree to introduce Seto and give the opening remarks? This is  _ not  _ my forte, _ Mokuba thought, staring at the lonely podium. He raised his arm to block his eyes from the stage lights from a few meters away, their radiant heat undoubtedly blistering.

“Do you have your speech ready?” Seto asked under his breath. 

Mokuba withdrew a short stack of index cards from his suit’s jacket pocket. 

“Got ‘em right here. Figured it’d be more professional to use these than try and use my smartphone’s notes app.”

“Good call,” Seto replied. Just then, the background music faded, signaling the official start to the opening ceremonies.

_ Here goes nothing,  _ Mokuba thought, sucking in a deep breath. He strode forward and climbed the short staircase with ease. That he didn’t manage to trip over a hidden cable under the carpet or walk straight into the podium seemed something of a miracle to Mokuba. He managed to shake off the single drip of sweat that had traced its way down his jaw and set his speech notes on the podium’s angled surface, letting them rest against the stand’s metallic lip.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Kaiba Corporation’s Autumn Glory exhibition—” Applause interrupted Mokuba before he could finish; he smiled and nodded at the shadowy forms beyond the stage, but it only took a moment before it quieted enough for him to continue.

“...in partnership with the Egyptian Archaeological Society. Many of you may know who I am, but for those that do not, my name is Mokuba Kaiba, the Vice President of Kaiba Corporation.” 

More applause, this time lasting for a good minute, and at least one shout from a feminine voice, “You’re awesome, Mokuba-sama!”

Mokuba couldn’t help the blush that crept up his cheeks. 

“Thank you. Tonight’s opening ceremonies are really the kick-off to a celebration of several things: we’ve got some new products we think you’ll love, announcements about Kaiba Lands around the world  **and** about our Duel Academias.”

“Whoo, new Duel Disk!” a male voice called out. Mokuba stifled a small laugh, sure that the voice had sounded awfully like one Katsuya Jounouchi. 

After a few minutes on the stage, Mokuba could start to make out vaguely familiar shapes among the crowd: Yuugi’s stand-out hairstyle in one of the front rows of seats, reserved for Kaiba Corporation employees and special guests like the Ishtars; Jounouchi and Mai— _ is he wearing a tuxedo!? _ —standing next to one of the cocktail tables on the right side of the room; and even Otogi, in a black suit and dress shirt paired with a crimson tie and pocket square.

Mokuba pursed his lips and shuffled his speech notes for a second before making up his mind about something.

_ “Don’t ask for permission, ask for forgiveness,”  _ Mokuba remembered Seto telling him at one point. He’d probably meant it as some sort of encouragement to take action, to not hesitate. The irony being, of course, that Seto typically didn’t bother asking permission  **or** forgiveness, and yet somehow he got away with it.

_ Must be his ineffable charm, _ Mokuba decided.

“You know, these are actually blank,” Mokuba admitted, tossing the cards over his shoulder. “Even though I’ve known about this event for ages, I got super-busy with a bunch of other things—” his gaze swung from one side of the room to the other. “And I didn’t actually prepare any notes. So I’m just going to wing it.”

“I’ve been involved with Kaiba Corporation’s operations since I was a kid, but this is actually my first time giving a speech for any one of our events. If you remember some of the biggest events in our history, you probably remember my brother Seto announcing the event in some epic way. Like that time he hung out of a helicopter. Or that other time when he used a jetpack to eject from a jet—seriously, a  **jet** ! I’m not kidding: there’s footage of it on ViewTube, look it up—and land on stage at Kaiba Land USA.”

A fair bit of laughter rippled through the crowd. Mokuba didn’t dare look in his brother’s direction. 

_ Is he going to come up here and stop me? Or have Isono cut the audio to my mic? _

But so far, so good. No one seemed to be approaching him from the side, and his mic still functioned, so…

“This event isn’t special just because of the announcements or the duels—though those are very cool and I’m especially stoked to see one of our newest products demoed later tonight—but because it’s a celebration of history.”

_ I can do this, _ Mokuba realized.  _ I just need to say what I’ve been thinking about for the past two weeks. _

“The last time the Egyptian Archaeological Society brought artifacts for their ‘Origins of Duel Monsters’ exhibit to Japan was 13 years ago. Duelists and history buffs alike here in Japan—the first country where the exhibit toured—understandably freaked out when they saw many of their favorite cards had their origins back in Ancient Egypt.”

Mokuba remembered his brother telling him about the Tablet of Lost Memories—something he derided as a fanciful name for a boring piece of rock—and how it featured something that looked suspiciously like the Blue-Eyes White Dragon on it. The paint had long since worn away, but in Seto’s mind, there had never been any doubt. 

_ I’m sure seeing it go up against a monster that looked an awful lot like Yuugi’s Black Magician helped, _ Mokuba thought.

“Industrial Illusions hadn’t announced that as part of their PR back when the game first came out, but once word of the exhibit got out,  **everyone** wanted to see it.”

“Kaiba Corporation’s history is also inextricably tied to Egypt,” Mokuba continued. “Thirteen years ago, my brother went to that first exhibit and launched one of the most ambitious  _ Duel Monsters  _ tournaments in history: Battle City. Fifteen years ago, Seto shocked the world when he became CEO and pivoted Kaiba Corporation from being one of the world’s top defense contractors to a gaming technology and entertainment company.”

Mokuba furrowed his brow, considering his next words carefully. 

“Not everyone was cool with the idea of a teenager being their boss. A lot of people didn’t like the idea that they’d gone from providing tanks and missiles to the world to focusing on ancillary products related to a license we didn’t even own. But Seto believed in what he was doing, and before long, all those naysayers were on board with helping build theme parks to benefit orphans—kids like us—and to create interactive technology that would change the face of the entertainment industry as we all know it.”

Mokuba took a deep breath and looked in Seto’s direction. His brother had both arms crossed over his chest, and kept staring at Mokuba with an unrelenting stare, but he otherwise didn’t seem  **angry** . If anything, his face teetered on expressionless: a series of straight lines cut into a chiseled jawline.

“And though I know he’s told me it’s not a big deal, and not worth celebrating, Seto, I’ve got to tell you again: I beg to differ. See, 30 years ago to this very day, my brother Seto was born.”

Absolute silence filled the room for a split second—a perfect moment of stillness, when Mokuba swore he could have heard a pin drop—before the room erupted in thunderous applause. Several people even shouted “Happy birthday, Kaiba-sama!”

“See, I told you, Big Brother,” Mokuba said, daring to look back at his brother with a smirk on his face.

“So, without further ado, to give you some juicy details about our announcements and this evening’s celebrations, I give you the CEO of Kaiba Corporation—my big brother, my hero—Seto Kaiba!”

Mokuba stepped back from the podium and headed toward the staircase, passing Seto as he went. In the space of a single breath, Seto leaned over and whispered to him, “I’m going to get you back for that, Mokuba.” He just laughed and continued ambling down the stairs until he was at Isono’s side.

“That was...very brave of you, Mokuba-sama,” Isono said after a brief pause. He took his ever-present glasses off and wiped them with his pocket square.

Mokuba glanced at him. “Don’t tell me you teared up, Isono? I didn’t even write anything out, I just made up that whole thing on the spot!”

Isono gave a mild chuckle. “You are quite the orator, Mokuba-sama. It may not appear as such to you, but both of you have your humble moments. Take pride in your efforts, sir. They have made an impact not just on me, but on countless others, even beyond this room.” Isono spread an arm out wide, gesturing at all the silhouettes applauding Seto before he could even begin to speak.

The applause lasted a good three minutes before Seto finally cleared his throat in a loud enough way that the shouts of “Happy birthday!” and “I knew you were a Scorpio!” and “Where’s the cake?!” died down.

Away from the bright stage lights, Mokuba could finally make out a few more familiar faces: Malik with his sister and adopted brother in the front row; Leonhart beside them, whispering something amusing in Malik’s ear, and much to Mokuba’s surprise, one Ryou Bakura applauding politely from a third row seat.

Just then, he got a text alert from the hotel staff:  _ On our way to the penthouse suite to install the painting, sir. It should take us no more than 15 minutes, but we will notify you if we are not gone by then to ensure Kaiba-sama doesn’t get his surprise early. _

Mokuba smiled. Phase Two of ‘Give Seto a Birthday He Won’t Forget’ was nearly complete.

_ Just one more phase to go, and this one’ll be the hardest, _ Mokuba knew. Bouncing around the world doing favors and making arrangements for friends was one thing, but getting his brother to show up to an “unplanned” birthday party?

_ Getting my MBA was easier than this! _

But there was no backing out now.


	14. Hunger and Games

_ Thank goodness I don’t have to give the keynote speech like Seto does,  _ Mokuba thought as he watched his brother transition from one major announcement to another without so much as a bead of sweat anywhere on him.

First came the reveal that Kaiba Corporation was breaking new ground outside Paris for a brand-new Kaiba Land there. As with all the other Kaiba Lands, a percentage of all profits would go straight to orphanages, foster programs, and other social services for children. Any child registered in the company partnership would be eligible to receive a season pass to the park, completely free of charge. A family that adopted a child in the program would receive a family pass good for one year, for up to four people.

This garnered a fair bit of applause, as well as a few photos taken for the press, with Seto pointing at Solid Vision renderings of the forthcoming project.

Seto then stated that that Kaiba Land USA would soon be having its 15th anniversary, and there would be a year-long celebration building up to the event, filled with sweepstakes and contests, special events at all Kaiba Land parks, and a brand-new ride, unique to Kaiba Land USA, that would open a week before the anniversary party at the park.

_ Just two more announcements to go, _ Mokuba remembered, trying his best not to yawn. The truth was, he was ravenously hungry, and he really hoped Yuugi had remembered to order several pizzas to go along with the food they’d arranged with Catering on the sly for Seto’s “surprise” birthday celebration. The little hors d'oeuvres that the waitstaff had on their platters—little crackers imprinted with the KC logo, and fancy spreadable cheeses accompanied by an assortment of finger-sized fruits and vegetables—could not tide Mokuba over for more than an hour at best.

“You may remember that this year marks the 10th anniversary of Kaiba Corporation’s acquisition of Duel Academia in Japan. As my brother so kindly pointed out when he introduced me—here Seto shot a smirk at his younger brother, who chuckled nervously when the spotlight landed on him once more—“I don’t do ‘small’ celebrations’ or ‘minor announcements.’ I believe if something is important to you, then you should prove it.”

Seto cleared his throat and then looked out at the crowd, scanning them for someone that wasn’t Mokuba, Isono, or Yuugi.

_ Who is he looking for? _ Mokuba wondered. 

“So for this year’s second-to-last announcement regarding Duel Academia, we will be adding a state-of-the-art Solid Vision lab for students to explore, experiment, and learn. Top-ranked students will have the option of a paid internship at any one of Kaiba Corporation’s offices worldwide upon graduation, with the possibility of a direct hiring upon completion of an eligible degree from a college, university, or other accredited training institution.”

Roaring applause filled the ballroom, with a standing ovation from a row of young guests on the far left front row that Mokuba guessed were Duel Academia students or recent graduates here for the dueling part of the exhibition.

“The lab will be housed in a new wing attached to the existing main structure of the Duel Academia, with the name of the wing to be announced at our final anniversary event in December.”

More smattered applause, and a lot of murmuring voices; would Duel Academia be branching out beyond high school education, and possibly into creating a college or university of its own? Why keep the name a secret; all the other buildings at the Academia had names tied to the legendary God Cards: Obelisk Blue, Ra Yellow, and Osiris Red. Several faces turned to look at Mokuba as if he might spill the answers, but Mokuba had none to share.

For a split second, it seemed as if Seto was about to walk off the stage without any real closing statement. But less than a meter away from the podium, he turned back and said, “Oh, and one more thing.”

The voices quieted; the applause died down; even the reportes’ cameras stopped clicking.

“You may have heard rumors that tonight’s product announcement would be something big. I’m sorry to disappoint you—” Seto reached into one of his inner suit pockets and withdrew what looked like a rectangular box a bit bigger than the average deck box. It hadn’t been visible on his silhouette at all, which was precisely the point of Seto’s custom-fitted suit.

“But our latest product is quite small. In fact, you might even call it  _ nano _ —the Duel Disk nano!” Seto shifted the box up to his wrist and attached it to a silver band that vaguely resembled a box. In a matter of seconds, the box unfolded into a full Duel Disk, with five rectangular plates for Monster cards, slits for Magic and Trap cards, a divider between the Deck Shuffler and the Graveyard, and two pop-out “wings” for a Field card and the Extra Deck.

Mokuba grinned as the room filled with excited talking, overlapping shouted questions from reporters, cameras flashing, and exclamations ranging from “How did he  **do** that?” to “Did Seto Kaiba just do a magic trick?” and “That’s so cool! It’s the coolest thing I’ve seen this this month—no, this year! No, this decade!”

_ Phase Two: Complete _ , Mokuba thought, smiling.  _ On to the third and final phase of ‘Give Seto a Birthday He Won’t Forget!’ _

Seto’s Duel Disk nano announcement caused enough of a stir that the crowd in the Grand Ballroom took time to break up and head to the evening’s next major event: a one-night only Pro League sealed tournament, featuring packs with Egyptian-themed cards, including many cards seen on the relics scattered throughout the Kaiba Hotel.

_ It’s still an hour away, and I’m starving! Maybe I can sneak into one of the kitchens and get myself something? _ But no; Mokuba knew the staff had to be busy with all of the hotel’s new guests, not to mention the exhibition itself, which began with a cocktail hour, transitioned into the keynote, and would be followed by a break before the demonstration of the new Duel Disk.

In the meantime, several other vendors and sponsors had set up shop in a number of smaller rooms, selling everything from rare cards to T-shirts, wall scrolls, and even plushies with favorite Duel Monsters on them. Right as Mokuba was about to peer into one of the rooms, a voice called out.

“Mokuba-kun!” Leonhart von Schroeder was running toward him, wearing an outfit that vaguely reminded Mokuba of the outfit he’d worn back during the Grand Prix: an aquamarine dress shirt paired with a cream-colored suit jacket and navy trousers.

_ Good thing he didn’t inherit his brother’s taste for monochromatic suits with flouncy sleeves and ascots, _ Mokuba thought. Siegfried von Schroeder could be a top gaming entertainment CEO on Seto’s level, but his fashion sense was even worse than Seto’s over-the-top studded and flared trenchcoat look, in Mokuba’s opinion.

_ And supposedly I have a decent fashion sense?  _ Mokuba remembered Anzu telling him. He still wasn’t entirely convinced she hadn’t just been buttering him with compliments so he’d get her the dress, but at least she’d liked the one Jacques Mode designed after Mai told him about Mokuba’s request.

“Leonhart! Glad you could make it. What did you think of Seto’s announcements?”

The young dueling prodigy—champion of one of many Kaiba Land Grand Prix tournaments and Mokuba’s peer at Schroeder Corporation— clicked his tongue, “You know, if I don’t have to call you ‘Mokuba-san,’ then you don’t have to call me by my full given name. Just Leon is fine, really.”

“The nano is most impressive,” Leon began, “But I’m actually most excited about the new Kaiba Land outside Paris,” he added in a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t tell your brother.”

Mokuba stifled a laugh from bursting forth from his lips. “I’m sure Seto will be happy either way. We’re both really proud of everything the company’s been able to accomplish this year, in no small part to the partnerships we’ve been able to forge with so many great companies.”

And as much as Seto refused to give Mokuba real autonomy in the company, many of those partnerships were sealed thanks to Mokuba’s insistence on what he privately called ‘schmoozing.’ It was a term he’d picked up from his time in New York , a sort of American English corruption of a Yiddish word for ‘chatting someone up.’ 

_ It’s so much better than ‘networking’ or something boring like that! _

“I saw,” Leon nodded as he looked around the lobby. “Using Solid Vision for advertising is really quite innovative. I’d say ‘why didn’t I think of that?’ but then again, Kaiba Corporation does tend to be two steps ahead of us when it comes to marketing.”

“Nah, it’s just different target markets,” Mokuba replied. “Japan’s already such a screen-based culture that the only way you can really get people’s attention these days is with something that legitimately pops out and engages with them. This is our first roll-out of it in a non-Kaiba Land venue, though.”

“Really?” Leon looked around at the various Studio Dice ads scattered throughout the Grand Ballroom’s central hallway, featuring a scarlet die with white pips that morphed into a Red-Eyes Black Dragon and a Blue-Eyes White Dragon respectively. The two dragons roared and then miniaturized, taking positions on either end of a board outfitted with both white and black towers lit up by glowing red and blue lights. More towers appeared, and the lasers shooting from them changed direction, the blue light bouncing from piece to piece until it landed on a sensor on the Red-Eyes figurine on the opposite corner of the board. Then the ad “exploded” and came back together as the Studio Dice logo once more.

“Where on earth are the projectors?” Leon asked, glancing around one of the columns with an ad projected in front of it. “I can’t— there’s not even a Duel Disk or one of your nano boxes anywhere here…”

Mokuba grinned. “You can try and find it, but you might be here all year,” he said with a laugh. “But I think you might want to get a bite to eat first, right? The ads won’t be going anywhere.”

Leon nodded. “Please, lead the way. And while we walk, perhaps I can discuss with you a potential entertainment-related collaboration project I’m considering proposing to Kaiba Corporation. It has to do with using Solid Vision in some new—and I hope  **interesting** —ways.”

_ This just proves I was right to ask Anzu if she wants to join Kaiba Corporation in a proper entertainment division! I knew I couldn’t be the only person thinking about using Solid Vision the way we did for  _ Millennium!

“Sure. Let’s walk and talk.”

They meandered through the well-dressed crowds of visitors, chatting all the while, and before long, another familiar face caught up to them.

“Ah, Malik-san,” Leon greeted the young man. “Good to see you again.”

“Same to you as well, Mr. von Schroeder—”

“Please, just call me Leon,” Leon interrupted him, and Malik bobbed his head in a slight nod.

“Mokuba-kun, I’m glad I was able to meet up with you,” Malik turned to Mokuba. “I wanted to thank you again for everything. And ask if perhaps it might be possible for me to film a livestreamed episode of my show here this evening?”

Mokuba blinked in surprise. “A livestream? I mean, we’ve got the bandwidth for it, no problem, but wouldn’t you need a kitchen?”

“Well,” Malik shifted his gaze off to the side, “I was thinking of doing a joint program with a friend, which we wouldn’t need the kitchen for, necessarily, but if we  **could** get access to one—”

“You know what? We keep talking about food, and those little crudites or whatever don’t do anything for me, so yeah, why don’t we all head to one of the kitchens and see what we can find out?” Mokuba smiled at Malik and Leon, and the two nodded enthusiastically back at him.

“Let’s go!”

* * *

Some thirty minutes later, Malik was set up in one of the hotel’s auxiliary kitchens, intended for major events that necessitated the area for caterers, like weddings.

Mokuba happily chewed on a gift of Malik’s sourdough bread while he watched Malik—having thrown a Kaiba Hotel apron over his dressshirt and slacks—set up a laptop computer, a webcam, a pair of ring lights on extending tripods, and a pair of lapel microphones.

The swinging door to the kitchen opened, and to Mokuba’s surprise, Ryou Bakura walked in, wearing a cerulean dress shirt with a pair of heather gray pinstriped slacks. He held a matching gray suit jacket over his shoulder, but judging by his lack of tie and the top two buttons on his shirt popped open, he wasn’t here for any formal ‘schmoozing,’ as Mokuba called it.

“Mokuba-kun? I would say I’m surprised to see you here, but then again, this  **is** your hotel,” Ryou smiled at him.

It had been years since Mokuba had last met Ryou—in person, at any rate—but he looked a  **lot** better. His face had filled out some since the Ceremonial Duel, and he, like Mokuba, opted to keep his hair long, but tied behind him with a ponytail. His eyes also seemed brighter—if that was even possible—and his smiles were less hesitant, more readily offered to anyone and everyone.

“Well, in a manner of speaking, I guess,” Mokuba answered, reaching his hand out for Ryou to shake. “How are you doing these days, Bakura-kun? What brings you to the kitchen?” He paused, remembering hearing something about Ryou utterly demolishing a buffet table full of shish kebabs, ice cream parfaits, pasta, salad, and other dishes on the yacht on the way to the Ceremonial Duel. “Are you...hungry?”

Ryou laughed, in a genuinely amused way, rather than the evil cackling Mokuba had heard come out of those lips before, when he was a child. But just as he’d been able to forgive Malik, Mokuba knew he could forgive Ryou; after all, Ryou hadn’t even had any say whatsoever in what the dark entity known as Zork did while occupying his body.

It all sounded like the sort of stuff straight out of a manga or something, but Mokuba had been there: he knew it was all the truth.

“No, I’m quite fine. Though I do expect to get a bit hungry during my livestream with Malik-kun,” Ryou smiled.

“Wait, you’re the other ViewTuber?” Mokuba pointed at Ryou. “What– What’s your channel? Is it about Tarot or something?”

Ryou laughed again, but he shook his head. “No, I’ve moved past my occult interests from my youth. I’m actually an art historian, now.”

“Whoa, really? That’s pretty cool,” Mokuba murmured. He’d seen a few programs on TV about art historians helping to uncover rare art hidden under centuries of old paint or reused manuscripts.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Leon put in, “But how will you fuse art history with baking? The two subjects seem, well, quite distant, in my view.”

“I don’t blame you for thinking that way,” Malik said. “We didn’t initially plan for a baking segment on the show; I just wanted the chance to collaborate with Ryou-kun again, so we planned to do an episode about food in ancient Egyptian art.”

_ They’re on a first name basis with each other? That’s...different.  _ But it made sense, too. If anyone could understand what it was like to have a dark entity use you for its own purposes, it was Malik, even if Malik’s “other half” hadn’t been a spirit from the Underworld or whatever and instead a sort of split personality. Mokuba still didn’t understand it to this day, but he also didn’t care to think about it too much, especially considering how apologetic Malik seemed. 

“But with access to the kitchens,” Ryou added, “I challenged Malik-kun to come up with an innovative way to bake something delicious  **and** artistic. He can discuss the food elements while I talk about the art side of things.” 

Mokuba’s mind swam with possibilities: a candy tower? Maybe a layered cake with an artsy buttercream frosting?

_ No wait, Malik’s not that kind of baker, _ Mokuba reminded himself. But when he tried to come up with an “artistic” bread, the closest image his brain could supply was a hearty vegetable stew inside of a bread bowl.

“Malik,” a voice interrupted everyone’s thoughts. Filling the entire doorway was none other than Rishid, Malik’s adopted brother. He’d traded the dark hooded jacket and black combat boot look for a deep purple dress shirt and dark gray trousers, along with a silvery tie.

“Ah, Rishid,” Malik greeted him. “We’re about to get started. You don’t mind monitoring the livestream chat?”

“Not at all,” Rishid actually did something Mokuba was positive he’d never, ever seen Rishid do before: he  **smiled** . It was a small smile, to be sure, but undoubtedly, undeniably a smile.

“So what  **are** you going to be making?” Mokuba asked, swallowing the last mouthful of his sourdough bread. “Bread was delicious, by the way; thank you.”

Malik chuckled a bit under his breath before turning to Ryou. “What do you think about focaccia bread art?”

Ryou nodded slowly. “Italian bread decorated with what I assume will be savory herbs and vegetables?”

“Exactly,” Malik agreed. “I’m thinking I’ll try and replicate the Tablet of Lost Memories, since it’s one of the central parts of the exhibit here at the hotel, anyway.” Or a replica of one, at any rate. Mokuba knew the real deal hadn’t left Atem’s tomb and might never again see the light of day. He was just grateful the Gravekeeper’s Clan had been able to make a relief of it and, in the case of the version in the hotel now, paint it to resemble what it might have looked like thousands of years ago.

“That sounds like quite the challenge,” Leon said. 

“Agreed,” Mokuba added. “But I have one really important question to ask you, first.”

“Yes, Mokuba-kun?” Malik asked.

“What are you going to use for Atem’s hair?”

Everyone burst into laughter, and soon a spirited debate over whether to use purple sweet potato or red onions ensued.

* * *

“By the way,” Mokuba reached into his suit pocket to grab something for Leon. “While you’re here in town, I wanted to invite you and the Ishtars to a performance of  _ Millennium _ .”

“That show about—” Leon hesitated. He hadn’t been around Yuugi and the gang as much as Mokuba had, but he still gleaned something of the reality of the situation over the years. “About the King of Games?”

“Yeah,” Mokuba replied. He handed an envelope containing four tickets to an upcoming evening showing—front row seats, too—at the Shiki Densetsu Theatre Umi in Tokyo. “I—” He wasn’t ready to admit that he’d financed a majority of the operation, that he’d collaborated closely with Anzu in the show’s production. “I’m a big fan, and you know us Kaibas…” he gave Leon an exaggerated wink. “We can do anything.”

Leon laughed lightly and accepted the tickets, glancing over the details for the performance location and showtime. “I’ll be happy to. I’ll be sure to invite the Ishtars as well. As it turns out, we’re also staying on the same floor here in the Kaiba Hotel, so we already ran into each other before Jounouchi-san could introduce us.”

“I still can’t get over how you call him ‘Jounouchi-san,’” Mokuba laughed. 

“As opposed to  **what** , Mokuba?” A familiar voice— _ Speak of the devil and he shall appear _ , Mokuba thought—interrupted Leon and Mokuba’s conversation.

Mokuba turned to face Jounouchi, somehow managing to look quite dapper and smart in a classic tuxedo, beside Mai, who wore a tailored jacket and pencil skirt combo that reminded Mokuba of the ‘Magnificent Peacock’ paint job Honda had gotten on Mai’s new Peugeot 308 CC: it shimmered from gold to turquoise to cerulean to violet, with a silky black blouse separating the two pieces. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mokuba replied, glancing away from Jounouchi’s accusing glare innocently. “Jounouchi-kun? Nah, even that seems like a bit much…”

“Why you—” Jounouchi moved forward as if to sock Mokuba on the arm, but Mai gently tugged on one of Jounouchi’s biceps and he froze mid-stride.

“Haha, it’s a joke, a joke!” Mokuba waved a hand in front of Jounouchi. “Are you ready to properly debut the Duel Disk nano?”

"Heck yes!” Jounouchi exclaimed. “Though I kinda wish I’d been the one to do that cool reveal of the box when I go out onto the arena. But I get why Kaiba’d be the one to do it.”

“Of course you do, darling,” Mai squeezed his arm, and Jounouchi’s face flushed red. 

Mokuba grinned at the two of them, but pursed his lips. 

_ I’m glad they’re together. They balance each other out. _

Was that what most people needed, at the end of the day? Mokuba wondered. Someone to be their opposite in some ways, but their companion in others? Was trying to figure out ‘The One’ any easier than figuring out your own family?

“The runway show's not for a while yet, and we heard that Otogi-kun’s here putting on a little demo, so we’re going to take a look at that. Mokuba-kun. Schroeder-sama,” Mai nodded politely at Leon.

“Please, it’s Leon—” Mokuba’s compatriot interrupted, but Mai was already walking away, arm in arm with Jounouchi, waving the fingers of her opposite hand over her shoulder as they headed down the hallway to Studio Dice’s demo room.

When Leon excused himself to ‘schmooze’ with a few other guests, Mokuba took the opportunity to contact the only other person in the hotel in on the “plan.” He pulled out his phone and switched to a secure messaging app, tapping on his contact CatapultTurtle64.

“Did you make it onsite okay?” Mokuba tapped out. The plan involved “borrowing” one of the hotel’s smaller conference rooms—out of the way of the others and typically not used unless the entire meeting area got booked solid—and setting it up for Seto’s secret birthday party. Since tens of Kaiba Corporation employees had helped set up the hotel for the event, it wasn’t much of a surprise that some of them took decor items, tables, and chairs to different rooms. It also wasn’t supposed to be all that strange that Catering delivered a few items to a particular location and then left a few minutes later with a completely empty cart, despite the pervasive quiet in the dimly lit room.

CatapultTurtle64 responded with an “OK!” emoji, and then three dots appeared. A few moments later, another message appeared: “Do the others know where to go? They just dropped off their presents with the front desk, and Catering brought them over with the food. ”

“They should know,” Mokuba replied. “But just in case, I know where most of them are, but could you help me find Leon and Isis-san?”

“No problem,” CatapultTurtle64 responded. “You’ll be able to bring Kaiba-kun, right?”

“Leave it to me,” Mokuba typed back. “We still have time, though. T-minus 90 minutes and counting.” This all assumed that everyone would make it to the hotel’s Duel Arena for the new nano demonstration on time, and that the Pro League exhibition duels wouldn’t take more than their allotted hour and a half.

“Did you get pizza? I’m pretty hungry!” Mokuba tapped out. He’d already missed his chance to get dinner from the buffet lines, but at least the bread Malik gave him helped. 

“Yup, pizza, soda, ice water, iced tea, lemonade…”

CatapultTurtle64 then sent an image of a table piled high with amazing foods. A fruit arrangement—using actual dragon fruit!—to make a Blue-Eyes White Dragon caught Mokuba’s eye first. It seemed to be coated with some sort of blueberry glaze to cover all the black seeds. Surrounding it on thin skewers were precisely eight “level” stars made out of cantaloupe and pineapple, and on shorter sticks surrounding those, a few attribute symbols made from fruit drizzled with fine lines of chocolate. 

“Catering also sent us this popcorn mix that I tried a  **little** sample of,” CatapultTurtle64 wrote. “It’s got a bunch of different kinds of chocolate-covered popcorn, plus caramel corn with nuts, and s’more-flavored popcorn bites, too.”

“Yuugi!” Mokuba’s fingers flew across his phone’s keyboard as he typed. “Stop making me even hungrier!”

Yuugi replied with an emoji that looked like it was crying because it laughed too hard. “I promise I won’t eat the whole bowl before your brother gets here.”

“You better not,” Mokuba shot back. “You’re supposed to be at the Duel Arena soon to help Jounouchi get outfitted with the nano.”

“I know, I know. Are we going to be able to lock the room in the meantime, though?”

“I’ll run over to our event liaison and have them lock it when you’re ready to leave,” Mokuba replied, already walking toward the small desk where he knew the conference’s hotel staff would be. “Have them give you the key though, so you can get back and bring everyone else in.”

“Will do. See you soon.”

“See you soon,” Mokuba echoed. He was about to put his phone in his pocket and talk to the conference liaison when he got another message.

“Oh, and Mokuba-kun?”

“What’s up?”

“Thank you for helping me do this. I hope Kaiba-kun won’t fire me for it or anything, but I really do want him to have a happy birthday he’ll always remember.”

“Me too, Yuugi. Me too.”

And with luck, that’s just what would happen….

* * *

_ Whoa. There are more people here than I thought, _ Mokuba realized as he looked out at the crowds of people filling Kaiba Hotel’s Duel Arena from behind a curtained-off area. The space was sizable, but it was no Duel Dome, nor did compare to the arenas at any given Kaiba Land. But Kaiba Corporation simply didn’t have hotels without built-in Duel Arenas: it would be like having pancakes without syrup, like pizza without cheese, like cake without frosting!

_ Inconceivable! _ Mokuba grinned and turned to face Yuugi and Jounouchi, who were busy commiserating after months—if not years—of separation since Yuugi took up his position at Kaiba Corporation and Jounouchi made it big on the Pro League circuit.

Next to lanky Jounouchi in his tailored tuxedo— _ is that a custom job? _ Mokuba wondered— stood Yuugi in nearly complete contrast to his best friend: the same violet dress shirt, gray slacks and vest, and ruby red tie with gold clip that Mokuba had seen him wear the other day. 

_ Yuugi must have had it cleaned and pressed, _ Mokuba knew, but for a guy Mokuba had only known to wear his school uniform back in high school, it seemed as though he had very little that he considered “formal wear,” and either something had a tie or it didn’t: that was it.

“Okay, so I’m just gonna press this thing here—” Jounouchi pointed to a subtle button on the side of the Duel Disk nano. 

The exhibition marked the debut of Kaiba Corporation’s Duel Disk colorways: the formerly Duel Academia-exclusive hues Osiris Red, Obelisk Blue, and Ra Yellow, plus all-white, solid black, gold and silver editions. For the first time this year, they also introduced metallic variants of their Duel Academia models, along with a limited collection of all-new colors, including bright green, rose pink, pumpkin orange, aquamarine, and royal purple. Jounouchi had the option of selecting what color he wanted to debut, and since he wore a traditional black-and-white tuxedo, pretty much any of them would look good and stand out on his wrist.

“Yup, but you have to make sure that  **this** side is the one facing out, or you might open the Duel Disk upside down. Your cards wouldn’t fall out or anything, but you’d have to close it again to pull it from the base and rotate it properly,” Yuugi told him. “Are you sure you want to go with this color?”

“Well I  **don’t** want to use the blue one, ‘cause that’s the one Kaiba showed off earlier, and he’d laugh at me if I picked the Osiris Red one even though that’s pretty cool-lookin’...” Jounouchi mused, rubbing his fingers along his jaw. “I don’t know, do you think I should go with green? Gold?”

“Pink in honor of the Schroeders?” Mokuba joked.

Jounouchi scowled at him. “Siggy’s not even here, Mokuba! He’s at some lecture about  **physics** for fun!”

Mokuba still found it amusing that Siegfried and Jounouchi got along so well that Jounouchi deigned to give the formerly overbearing CEO of Schroeder Corporation such a diminutive nickname.

“You told me you were thinking of making this your last big exhibition match,” Mokuba said, lowering his voice. “Did you and Mai-san...come to an agreement?” he asked carefully.

Jounouchi scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, kinda. She said she doesn’t want to take dueling away from me, so I’m going to stay on the home circuit. She’s not interested in comin’ back into the League herself, and I’m cool with that, too. I just hope she isn’t just sayin’ that for my sake.”

Mokuba shook his head. “I don’t think she’s the type of person who would push her own dreams to the side for someone else,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Yuugi stiffen and walk to one of the other tables littered with Duel Disk nanos and sealed packs for the tournament, keeping his back to Mokuba and Jounouchi.

“Besides,” Mokuba continued, shifting his gaze away from Yuugi, “She seems to really like this fashion thing she’s got going on with Jacques Mode. And honestly,” he let out a wry chuckle, “She’s a lot easier to talk to than Jacques! Maybe we can ask her to be our liaison for the Kaiba Corporation wearables line?” Mokuba mused aloud. “I’ll have to run it by Seto.”

“That might be cool. But you should ask  **her** first,” Jounouchi pointed out. “I made the mistake of not doin’ that before, and, well… you both know how that turned out.”

“But everything’s fine now, Jounouchi-kun,” Yuugi turned around, wearing what Mokuba immediately suspected was a fake smile. 

_ Everything might be fine between Jounouchi and Mai, but…  _ Now wasn’t the time or place to say anything about it, Mokuba knew.

“Yeah,” Jounouchi agreed. “You know what, I’m going with the purple one!” Jounouchi announced, fixing the purple Duel Disk nano to the black band on his wrist.

“I suppose this means I can’t go around calling you an amateur anymore,” a voice emerged from behind the curtained-off area. 

“Big Brother!” Mokuba exclaimed, turning to face his brother, who was leaning against a nearby wall. “Hey, are the other Pro Leaguers ready?”

Seto nodded at him. “They’ve each got their Duel Disks, whether the Mark II or their Duel Academia model.” Seto turned to address Jounouchi. “You’ll be the only one demonstrating the nano, so be sure to get it right.” 

Jounouchi glowered in Seto’s direction. “I’ve been in the Pro Leagues for years, man!”

To everyone’s surprise, Seto’s tone softened somewhat. “I know. Good job representing Japan abroad.”

“I—what?” Jounouchi gawped at Seto, his mouth opening and closing like he were some kind of koi fish.

“I don’t repeat myself,” Seto stated. “Do you have the exhibition-exclusive Special Summon? It should have been provided to you along with your sealed packs for the tournament this evening.”

“Yeah, I got it, I got it,” Jounouchi told him, waving his hand dismissively. “And I heard the sealed packs are going to have these ‘Tuner’ monsters in ‘em too, right?”

“A limited number, yes,” Seto replied. “Don’t screw up.” And then he spun on his heel and strode right back out the entryway to the Arena stage.

“Eh, that’s just Seto’s way of complimenting you, Jounouchi,” Mokuba chuckled. “Don’t take it personally, okay?”

“I know, I know. Man, he just never changes, does he?” Jounouchi asked, looking out at the curtained doorway that led out to the Duel Arena.

“I mean, I  **did** get him to take a vacation for the first time last month…” Mokuba said.

“Say what? Where’d he go? I bet his idea of a vacation was going to some tech conference somewhere, or sitting in a dark cave testing his Duel Disk’s signal strength…” Jounouchi, Yuugi, and Mokuba all laughed until Isono, clipboard in hand, pushed the doorway curtain aside.

“It’s about showtime, everyone. Are you ready to take your places?”

“Let’s do this,” Jounouchi said with his familiar smirk. “Thanks for makin’ this happen, Yuugi, Mokuba.”

“Of course!” Yuugi exclaimed. “You’re the best person for the demo, after all: an active Pro League Duelist! Mokuba was right in suggesting you to demo it.”

Jounouchi and Mokuba exchanged a glance, tacitly agreeing not to tell Yuugi that it had actually been Jounouchi’s idea all along, and that it had been part of a complex chain of deals that all led up to this evening.

“No problem, Jounouchi,” Mokuba added. “Yuugi’s right; you really are the best person for this job.”

“Wait till I blow those other Pro Leaguer’s socks off by being the best dressed in the room,” Jounouchi chuckled.

“Are you going to tell him about the sommelier duelist, or should I?” Mokuba stage-whispered to Yuugi.

“What about that Phoenix guy?” Yuugi stage-whispered back. “Isn’t he known for always wearing fancy silver suits?”

“Guuuuuyyyys!” 

* * *

Mokuba stuck around long enough to watch Jounouchi’s opening match against Mathematica, one of the recent competitors in Duel Academia’s Genex Tournament. The once 10th-place Pro leaguer didn’t rank in the tournament, but he’d developed a decent reputation for scaring student duelists with his Lockdown combo and the way he calculated odds with every card pull and play.

Luckily, without his key cards Gravity Bind and Fatal Abacus, he couldn’t stop Jounouchi from pulling off a spectacular demonstration not just of the Duel Disk nano, but of the new summoning technique recently invented by Industrial Illusions: Synchro Summoning. Only a handful of ‘Synchro Monsters’ existed yet, but Jounouchi had one for this duel. Any one of the other duelists might also have a Synchro Monster and Tuners from their sealed packs too, but Kaiba Corporation, the Egyptian Archaeological Society, and Industrial Illusions had partnered together to ensure that there’d be only one event-exclusive card that fit the theme of the exhibition.

“Hey Mathematica? Never tell me the odds! I tune my Level 4 ‘Wepwawet, Opener of Ways’ with my Level 3 ‘Aker, Guardian of the Horizon,’” Jounouchi called out, raising his free hand in the air to draw out a card from his Extra Deck.

“Theories and calculations are meaningless in a storm of chaos! Synchro Summon! ‘Destiny Breaker, Stormlight Beast Set!’” Jounouchi called, and the arena lights dimmed right on cue, focusing on the spectacular new summoning method taking place. 

Jounouchi’s Tuner, a Level 3 monster that resembled a two-headed lion—only the heads were on either side of the body, and there was no tail, just a curving body lit by what appeared to be a miniature sun—roared and turned into three green circles that shot toward Wepwawet. The Level 4 armored gray wolf monster passed through the rings, slowly becoming translucent until there was nothing left of it but a glowing outline filled with four tiny but radiant stars.

A massive beam of crackling blue lightning shot through the rings and swallowed the stars, manifesting as a large beast that looked like a startlingly fearsome composite of an aardvark, donkey, and a jackal. Its curved snout opened to reveal razor-sharp teeth, and its massive triangular ears twitched left and right, as if it could somehow hear the roaring audience. It flicked its forked tail, and lightning flashed around its legs. 

At some point during the summon, Mathematica fell flat on his behind and was staring up in awe at Set, his perfectly coiffed hair drooping on either side of his face like a pair of pigtails. With one swift attack from Set, Mathematica’s Gravekeeper’s Vassal screeched and vanished in a burst of glass-like shards, reducing the Pro Duelist’s Life Points to zero.

Thunderous applause erupted in the arena, and before long, all the other Pro League duelists sans Mathematica went up to Jounouchi to shake his hand and congratulate him. Mai emerged from the stands and draped herself off Jounouchi’s shoulder, and got a bit flustered when a few young female duelists ran up to her and begged her to autograph their Harpie Lady cards or their Amazoness-themed deck box.

Mokuba smiled.

_ So far, so good. And now, it’s time for the real fun to begin. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I made up the Synchro Monster Jounouchi used, along with the Tuner and the other Monster he sacrificed. But it sounds cool, don't you think?


	15. Unforgettable

Mokuba ambled over to the kitchen where he expected to find Malik, Bakura, and Rishid still working on their livestream. He tried to open the door quietly and sneak in, but in the time since he had last been in the room, Malik had shifted his setup and now the camera was pointing right at him as he entered the white and stainless steel space.

“Ah, and here’s one of our hosts here at the Kaiba Hotel this evening,” Malik spoke smoothly. “Will the Vice President of Kaiba Corporation be willing to review our leavened food art —a Tablet of Lost Memories made from focaccia bread and embedded with an assortment of colorful vegetables?”

Malik pulled back a fabric napkin over a rectangle the size of a large sheet cake. Mokuba’s jaw visibly dropped as he caught sight of the bread: it had the smell of a freshly-baked loaf of bread, the telltale golden brown sheen to it, but otherwise it looked  **exactly** like a miniaturized version of the ancient tablet. Bell peppers, onions, stalks of one herb and leaves of another—vegetables of every size and color formed the familiar shapes of the tablet, from a red Osiris the Heavenly Sky Dragon to a golden Ra the Sun God Dragon and a surprisingly blue Obelisk the War God.

“I almost don’t want anyone to eat it,” Mokuba admitted. “It looks way too good to mess up!”

“Japan is known for elevating food to an art form in its own right,” Ryou put in. “But at the end of the day, food is meant to be enjoyed, to sustain us and inspire us. What do you think, Malik-kun?”

“I agree,” Malik said. “When I bake, it’s with the hope that my family—or my friends, like you Ryou-kun, and you, Mokuba-kun—will enjoy it. I try to be conscious of things like allergies and nutrition, but creating something beautiful at the same time brings its own pleasure to the process.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I’d feel kinda bad if I  **didn’t** take some bread…” Mokuba replied.

“Did somebody say ‘bread’?” a voice called out from the doorway. This time the voice didn’t come from Seto— _ whew, thank goodness! I can’t have him finding me too early and ruining the surprise! _ —but from Jounouchi, with Mai close behind.

“Everyone, please welcome to the show International Pro League Duelist, representing Japan for the past several years, Katsuya Jounouchi!”

Jounouchi blinked, his hazel eyes the size of saucers as Rishid swung the camera to face him.

“Oh...uh, hey everyone!” Jounouchi hesitated and then waved at Ryou and then at Malik, his jaw tensing. Mai’s face paled slightly in the doorway and she backed away before Rishid could swing and capture her on camera, too.

“So, Jounouchi, do you have a favorite kind of bread?” Malik asked. “Ryou-kun and I are here this evening combining art and baking, and we’ve made Italian bread art using vegetables and herbs.”

Jounouchi peered down at the loaf and licked his lips before he even seemed to realize he was doing it. “Uh, a favorite kind? Does ‘any of them’ count as an answer? I can’t honestly think of a bread I haven’t liked,” he admitted, eliciting a laugh from nearly everyone present.

“Certainly,” Ryou agreed. “You just finished a recent tour with the International League throughout Europe, am I right? What are your plans now that you’re back home in Japan?”

Jounouchi glanced toward Mai, still visible through the doorway’s circular window. The door was ever-so-slightly ajar, and Mokuba was sure Mai was listening to every word spoken within.

“I’m thinking I’ll stay local. Get back to my roots, you know what I mean?” Jounouchi replied, his gaze never wavering from Mai’s profile. As soon as he finished his words, Mai turned and offered him a tentative, wavering smile.

Ryou cleared his throat slightly before speaking. “Now, Malik-kun, while normally I am all for the preservation of fine art such as this, as I mentioned a moment ago, food is meant to be enjoyed. What say you and I cut this up and offer it to some of our friends here at the Kaiba Corporation Autumn Glory exhibition?”

“Good idea, Ryou-kun,” Malik said. “While I do that, Mokuba-kun, why don’t you tell our audience a little bit more about some of the exciting announcements your company has made this evening?”

Mokuba let out a chuckle but offered a winning smile and began to talk about the upcoming Kaiba Land outside of Paris, the Duel Academia Solid Vision lab as the second-to-last announcement for the 10th anniversary of the school in Japan, the upcoming 15th anniversary of Kaiba Land USA, and finally, the brand-new Duel Disk nano in a rainbow of colors.

“Much like this piece of bread art,” Mokuba finished, grabbing a piece of bread—the part with the Osiris the Heavenly Sky Dragon made using red bell peppers. He tapped his slice of bread against the pieces Malik, Ryou, and Jounouchi took for themselves and said, “Cheers!” before Malik wrapped up the livestream.

Minutes later, Mokuba tapped his foot anxiously; he had to direct everyone where to go before he headed off to find Seto, but Malik was still busy talking to Jounouchi and Mai—and from the looks of it, apologizing just as sincerely to her as he had to Mokuba several weeks ago over SV Messenger.

At one point, Mai put a hand over her mouth, but she eventually nodded at something Malik said and accepted a piece of bread from his hand. She tentatively took a bite and, with Malik scrutinizing her face the whole while, closed her eyes in what appeared to be a mask of pure bliss. Malik’s face broke out into a megawatt smile, and before long, the tension in Jounouchi’s face disappeared, and Mai was laughing along with something Malik said.

“I wanted to let all of you guys know where to go for the ‘after-party,’” Mokuba said, making air quotes with his fingers. “Did you get the message from Yuugi yet?”

“Is that who CatapultTurtle64 is?” Mai asked. “I was wondering why I got a message from someone with a name like that.”

“I asked him about it,” Mokuba replied. “He said it refers to the Turtle Game Shop, Duel Monsters, and his birthday all at once. At least it’s not FB100875.” 

“A what now?” Jounouchi asked, tilting his head.

“Never mind. I’ll see you guys at the designated room, okay? Just remember: no turning out the lights, no big screams of ‘surprise’ or anything, okay?”

“Understood,” Mai replied. “I assume someone already picked up our gifts from the front desk?”

“Yep,” Mokuba answered. “You should see them all when you get there.”

“Mokuba-kun?” Malik asked, tapping Mokuba softly on the shoulder. 

“Yeah, Malik-kun?”

“Rishid and I still have some cleaning up to do in here, but we intend to be there—I intend to be there, at the very least, so I can apologize to Kaiba-kun once and for all. But if I am delayed… can you at least give him this for me?” Malik held out a larger-than-normal slice of the tablet, this one featuring the purple-robed priest and his White Dragon.

“Of course, Malik-kun. Not sure he’ll want to bite the dragon’s head off, but if he won’t eat it, you know I will!” 

“Maybe that should be my next attempt at bread art,” Malik mused. “Dragon bread...hmm.”

“You should make a Red-Eyes Black Dragon Bread!” Jounouchi exclaimed. “You can use all kinds of stuff for the red eyes, but you could make a black sesame loaf or something!”

“Why not a Harpie’s Pet Dragon?” Mai countered, coming into the kitchen. “It won’t look as burnt, and he could have fun shaping the dough more.”

“Or how about a Dragon Zombie?” Ryou put in. “It would be interesting to see if you could get a purple bread using beet extract or pea flower petals…”

Everyone except Mokuba, Malik, and Rishid continued their spirited debate about which dragon Malik should make next as they headed toward the secret meeting place with Yuugi.

_ Okay, it’s time for the grand finale of ‘Give Seto a Birthday He Won’t Forget!’ Let’s go! _

Mokuba didn’t care if it looked unseemly for the well-dressed vice president of Kaiba Corporation to be seen running in his own hotel hallways; he couldn’t help the excitement coursing through his veins.

_ Seto will never see this coming! _

* * *

It took Mokuba a good ten minutes to locate Seto among all the lingering Duelists, businesspeople, and hotel guests. Even better, Isono was busy directing breakdown operations for cleaning up the central conference room, since it wouldn’t be used in its current form for the remainder of the exhibition.

“Seto!” Mokuba waved from the entrance diagonal to where his brother was standing near an audio engineer. 

“I’m glad I found you. There’s a bit of a situation I need your help with in one of the conference rooms.”

Seto raised an eyebrow. “A situation?”

Mokuba glanced left and right, his eyes briefly landing on the hapless engineer who was just trying to pack away his equipment. “Yeah, it’s… not something I think I should discuss in the open,” Mokuba stage-whispered.

“Fine,” Seto responded. “Lead the way.”

On the way, Mokuba checked his phone briefly when Seto wasn’t looking, and saw a message from Yuugi confirming everyone had arrived and their preparations were complete. Mokuba quickly tapped out his text shortcut for “on my way!” and sent it right as Seto looked his way.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on in this room, or are you going to make me guess?”

Mokuba let out a thin laugh. “No, no, this is more of a ‘show, don’t tell,’ kind of situation. You know, words can’t really describe…”

_ It’s one thing to ad lib a speech introducing your genius brother to VIP guests of an important exhibition, but you flub coming up with even a little white lie for why you’re dragging him to some random conference room? _ Mokuba shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, but he didn’t say anything further.

“It’s in here,” Mokuba said, pushing open the small conference room’s door and stepping aside so Seto could look inside. True to plan, the lights were dimmed, not off, and everyone stood around a table lined with presents and gifts. An obnoxious handmade banner—probably penned by Yuugi, judging by the handwriting in an assortment of rainbow colors—read “Happy Birthday, Seto Kaiba!” and had Blue-Eyes White Dragon stickers covering almost every centimeter of available white space.

“Happy Birthday, Kaiba-kun!” Yuugi called out, popping a small cracker full of streamers and confetti. Shortly after, everyone else chimed in with “Happy Birthdays” of their own, with the exception of Jounouchi who said, “You better have gotten at least three gray hairs by now or I’m filing a complaint.”

Seto froze in the doorway, but Mokuba quickly stood behind him. He smirked when Seto turned around slightly to glare his way.

“No escaping, bro,” he murmured.

“Dammit, Mokuba,” Seto whispered. He sucked in a deep breath and stepped forward into the room.

“Thank you, everyone,” he said sotto voce, looking from Yuugi, Jounouchi, Mai, and Otogi clustered together on one side of the room to Leonhart, Malik, Bakura, Rishid, and Isis on the other. They all applauded lightly and started pulling out presents or food.

“You deserve a fantastic birthday party,” Yuugi explained. “And I asked Mokuba-kun if I could be the one to give it to you. So please don’t get angry at him.”

“I’m not—” Seto pursed his lips and looked back at Mokuba, who pulled the door shut behind him. “I’m not angry at all. And please, just… just call me Seto.”

At least one person gasped, while Jounouchi’s jaw went slack and Yuugi’s already wide eyes somehow got even bigger.

“D-Do you mean it?”

“Yes,” Seto said with a resigned sigh. “We’re all friends, after all.”

The absolute joy radiating off Yuugi’s face could have rivaled a solar flare with its intensity, Mokuba thought. 

“All right, SETO,” Jounouchi said emphatically. “It’s time for presents—”

At that precise moment, Mokuba’s stomach growled obnoxiously loud and all eyes turned to look at him.

“Uh… sorry, I haven’t eaten much tonight besides a few pieces of bread and some carrots,” Mokuba mumbled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

“I changed my mind,” Jounouchi said, taking back the red dice-patterned gift box he’d placed in front of Seto. He shifted slightly and put another, much larger, flatter, and more recognizable box on the table instead. “It’s time for  **pizza** !”

* * *

A good two hours later, Mokuba was helping an exhausted— _ and probably a little drunk too, if I’m being honest _ , Mokuba thought— Seto upstairs to the penthouse suite. Yuugi agreed to bring Seto’s gifts—ranging from an already-opened box of Otogi’s newest game,  _ Dragon vs. Dragon  _ (Jounouchi had insisted on playing a match with Seto, and lost by the fifth turn) to a wine-red silk dress shirt from Jacques Mode’s upcoming collection—to the bell desk for transport upstairs at an appropriate time.

_ “It’s a different color than you usually wear,” _ Mai had explained of the shirt,  _ “But trust me, it’ll look good on you.” _

When Seto hesitated—removing the shirt from its gift box as if he were handling an ancient parchment—Mokuba had added,  _ “I trust Mai’s taste, Big Brother. She helped me get this badass suit, remember?” _

_ “Yeah, live a little,” _ Mai had said.  _ “You can’t always wear studded trench coats, after all.” _

Everyone had laughed after that, even Seto, and before long, they were all chatting, playing games, enjoying pizza, soda, and chocolate-covered popcorn. Even Rishid gamely participated in an impromptu game of “catch the popcorn with only your mouth,” catching twice as many kernels as Jounouchi managed to, despite Mai cheering him on.

Leonhart had brought a vintage bottle of wine from one of the Schroeder family’s wineries (yes, wineries PLURAL. It took all of Mokuba’s willpower not to roll his eyes when Leonhart explained that it was their  **French** winery, not their Italian one) and they’d popped it open immediately, not caring that they didn’t have the proper glasses or the right food to pair with it. It ended up tasting pretty good with chocolate and cheese, anyway.

Rishid and Isis went a similar route, presenting Seto with a pair of cufflinks made from Egyptian lapis lazuli, a rich blue gemstone threaded with silvery veins. A handmade leather wallet—with stamped scrollwork courtesy of none other than Rishid himself—accompanied the cufflinks, its closure also made from a snap topped with a lapis lazuli bead.

Mokuba presented Seto with the portion of the Tablet of Lost Memories focaccia that Malik made. After a moment of looking at it with a bemused smile on his face, he took a bite and, while chewing away on the white onion and soft bread, offered Malik a few sharp, approving nods as he finished off the small loaf.

Jounouchi hesitated a moment before pulling something out of one of his tuxedo’s trouser pockets: the brand-new Synchro Monster ‘Destiny Breaker, Stormlight Beast Set.’

_ “I wish I could say I thought of the perfect gift for you, but honestly, I suck at picking out gifts, and Mai said I couldn’t pretend like the shirt was from both of us. But I think this card makes more sense for you than it does for me,” _ Jounouchi had said.

He didn’t add whether or not it was because of their adventures in a certain Memory World all those years ago, but at this point in time—with this group of people—it didn’t need to be said. They all knew that Seto strongly believed in the power of making one’s own path, of fighting for the ‘destiny’ you wanted, rather than lying down and accepting what cards fate had to deal you.

There’d been a bit of silence at that point, but Ryou had cheerfully broken through it by smiling brightly at everyone and then slamming a heavy coffee table book onto the table in front of Seto.

_ “I thought you might appreciate this book on the art of dragons throughout history,”  _ Bakura had said.  _ “I actually helped research and write a few chapters in here. I hope you’ll enjoy it, Seto-san.” _

Seto nodded and started thumbing through the book, while Yuugi attempted to peer over Jounouchi’s hunched shoulder. When Jounouchi’s nose started getting a bit  **too** close to the book’s glossy pages, Seto abruptly slapped it shut, claiming he would take his time studying it over the weekend. 

When everyone else started to head upstairs to their room, or head out for the night to their own homes, Yuugi hung back.

_ “Like Jounouchi-kun, I’m not really all that good at picking out gifts for people,” _ he’d said,  _ “but what would you get for someone who probably has everything, anyway?”  _ Yuugi had laughed a little at that, but Seto and Mokuba didn’t join in his self-deprecating humor.  _ “Anyway, I think it makes more sense to give somebody an experience over more ‘stuff,’ if you can help it, so here’s my present to you, Seto-kun,” _ he said, holding out a glossy-looking travel guide to Domino.

At first, Mokuba and Seto had  **both** been confused, but once they opened the book—apparently penned by none other than Sugoroku Mutou himself—they understood what Yuugi had done. Instead of the standard tourist’s guide to Domino, almost every page was littered with pasted-in notes, personal photos, and even a few arrows and stars added to maps.

_ It’s like what Anzu did with the libretto, _ Mokuba realized.  _ Maybe Yuugi and Anzu haven’t drifted so far apart after all. _ It wasn’t that Mokuba suspected Anzu had helped Yuugi or anything; Mokuba knew full well that Anzu hadn’t spoken to Yuugi in years. But now that they were both back in Japan, and maybe, just maybe, if Mokuba could get her to agree to work for Kaiba Corporation….

“Hey Big Brother, we’re here. Are you awake enough to get changed?” Mokuba asked as he waved his keycard over the door’s lock.

“Yeah, yeah,” Seto mumbled, still hanging off Mokuba’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t’ve had that third cup of wine…”

“Probably not,” Mokuba agreed with a small laugh. “But it’s your birthday, and it’s not like you had to drive anywhere, so you’ll be okay. I’ll leave some aspirin and water out on your nightstand. But I’ve got to show you something first,” Mokuba said, steering his brother over to the suite’s enclosed fireplace.

“Take a look.”

Seto looked up, his red eyes already ringed with shadows. In the space of a heartbeat, the redness and dark circles seemed to vanish as Seto saw the oil painting of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon in person, from less than a meter away.

“Is– Is this—?” For what Mokuba suspected was the first time in a very, very long while, Seto couldn’t seem to find his words.

“Happy Birthday, Big Brother. I wanted to get you something really special. So I did a bit of wheeling, a bit of dealing… and I got you this.”

“Mokuba this… it’s priceless.” Seto wandered up to the painting, his fingers ghosting over the surface. He traced over the curves of the dragon’s claws, the lower edge of the Tablet of Lost Memories, the plated tail, staring as if mesmerized.

_ Well, I’m sure as heck not going to tell him the real valuation of it! He’d probably find a way to ground me like I was twelve all over again! _

“I know. That’s why it belongs here, with you, not in some gallery or whatever somewhere. Oh, and one more thing,” Mokuba said, quoting Seto’s earlier words from his keynote speech. He reached into his jacket’s inner pocket and withdrew a single card: a white Synchro Summon Monster featuring a translucent pale dragon: the Blue-Eyes Spirit Dragon.

“This is from Pegasus,” Mokuba explained. “He said it belongs in its home, with you.” The dragon could only be Special Summoned using a Tuner with one or more Non-Tuner “Blue Eyes” Monsters, and since Seto owned the only Blue-Eyes in the world….

“Hmph, now I have to write a thank you card,” Seto grumbled. 

“You should thank him for the other painting,” Mokuba added.

“What  **other** painting?” Seto asked, spinning around to face his younger brother. 

“The one that’s upstairs in your office at HQ,” Mokuba grinned. “I had some installers hang it today. You’ll see it on Monday when we get back, and not a day sooner!”

“Mokuba…” 

For a second, Mokuba thought his brother was about to insist that Mokuba couldn't boss him around, that  **he** was the CEO, not Mokuba, but no such thing happened. Instead, Seto reached over and enveloped Mokuba in the tightest hug he’d felt in his entire life, and that was including the time they’d reunited atop Pegasus Castle following the conclusion of the Duelist Kingdom tournament.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Seto whispered over his brother’s shoulder. “I– I had my first taste of what it was like when you went away to college, but now it just feels like I’m holding you back from doing what you want, from being who you want to be.”

“Bro!” Mokuba exclaimed, thrusting his arms out and pushing Seto away slightly. “I’m 24! Not a kid, yeah, but I’m not 100 percent sure of anything yet. Like, do I want to be your VP for the rest of my life, or do I ever want to have my own company? Or maybe I want to see what it’s like working somewhere else, for someone else? Do I want a family of my own? Those aren’t the kind of questions someone’s going to be able to answer over a day or a month or even a year!”

Mokuba looked down at the floor, feeling the sting of tears on his lash line. He refused to hide his emotions in front of the one person that needed to learn that sharing them was more than okay, it was  **necessary** for their relationship to improve.

“I don’t think you’re holding me back. I just want you to recognize me as being somewhere on your level, that’s all. I want you to trust me.”

“I do, Mokuba. I trust you more than I trust anyone else on this planet,” Seto told him. 

They meandered over to the master suite in the penthouse, where Seto proceeded to throw his suit jacket and tie on the nearest plush chair. 

“They didn’t end up coming,” Seto said, in a voice so low Mokuba almost didn’t catch it.

“Who— oh.” Mokuba realized there was only one ‘they’ Seto could have been referring to: their biological relatives.

“I don’t know if it’s because they didn’t want to come, or if they never got the invite… but if we’re serious about reconnecting with them—and I do mean  **us** , together—then we can look into it next week.”

Mokuba smiled at his brother, feeling a pride well up in his chest that he almost couldn't explain. It didn’t matter that he was the younger brother and Seto had raised him practically as a father since before Mokuba could even remember: he still felt  **proud** of Seto.

_ All of the deals, all of the back-and-forth favors… it was all worth it, to have this moment. Seto’s not the only one who’ll never forget this birthday. I won’t either. _

* * *

**October 27**

**—Dentsu Shiki Theatre Umi, Tokyo—**

Mokuba met up with Leonhart and the Ishtars on Sunday evening, the day before they were about to head to Germany for their luxurious ski vacation. 

“Is that—” Leon pointed up to one of the banners hanging from the theatre’s entryway in the towering Dentsu Building. “Anzu-san?”

“Yup,” Mokuba nodded. “She helped write, produce, and choreograph this whole thing. Plus she’s the one that pushed for this Asian tour, so we wouldn’t have gotten the show here at all if it weren’t for her. She told me it took her ages to translate all the rap and hip-hop lyrics into Japanese.”

“Incredible,” Isis murmured. “I’m grateful for this opportunity to attend such a renowned performance, Mokuba-kun. Thank you very kindly for inviting us.”

Mokuba glanced toward Malik. “It’s no problem. I know… I know this isn’t just a great show for guests to enjoy, it’s important for all of us.”

Malik nodded, but he didn’t say anything.

“Hey, the tickets include a backstage pass at the end of the show, so we should get a chance to say hi to Anzu, too.”

“Oh, we should buy her flowers!” Leon exclaimed. “Mokuba, will you help me find a vendor?”

Mokuba grinned and nodded. “Sure. Why don’t you guys head on in, and we’ll meet you there soon?”

Malik, Isis, and Rishid all nodded politely at Mokuba and headed toward the ticket taker at the theatre’s main entrance.

Mokuba turned to Leon, talking and walking toward a florist he knew had a small stall not that far from the building. “Nice idea. Wish I’d thought of it first,” he said.

“No problem,” Leon replied. “Do you know if she has any favorite flowers? Or colors?”

“Let’s just get her the most obnoxious, brightly colored bouquet they have, okay? I’ll split the cost with you.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Leon said with a chuckle. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

Hours later, with the ‘obnoxious bouquet’ in Malik’s hand (Mokuba had hurriedly explained to Leon that Malik wanted to apologize to Anzu for a past incident, and hadn’t been able to reach her for years), the Ishtars, Leon, and Mokuba waited in the backstage area reserved for the show’s VIP guests.

Though the show had opened some weeks ago at this point, almost every performance was completely sold out, and based on what Mokuba heard from one of the lighting technicians, every show had an encore, too.

Before long, the cast filed out, the Ishtars and Leon offering their appreciation and gratitude to each and every one. A few lingered for friendly conversation—namely the actors who’d  **played** Isis, Rishid, and Malik—but as soon as Anzu emerged, her co-stars nodded and headed out.

“This is for you,” Malik murmured from behind the array of sunflowers, roses, cremones, Asiatic lilies, and safflower.

“Oh,” Anzu blinked several times. “Thank you very much, Malik-kun.”

That she’d deigned to use an honorific with him spoke volumes about Anzu’s willingness to forgive Malik. Mokuba gestured to the other Ishtars and Leon, and they stepped away for a few minutes to talk to some of the stage crew while Malik and Anzu had their long overdue conversation.

“Had a good talk?” Mokuba asked Anzu after she and Malik parted. The Ishtars and Leon headed outside to get some much-needed fresh air before they were all due to take a taxi back to the Kaiba Hotel and enjoy their last night in Japan for at least two weeks.

Anzu kept the large bouquet in front of her face, lowering it just enough that Mokuba could see she’d been crying.

“Yeah,” Anzu whispered, her voice a little froggy. “I— I wouldn’t have believed he would be so sincere even after you told me,” she admitted. “But to see him here tonight, and these flowers… Sunflowers are my favorite.” 

“Well,” Mokuba said, spreading his hands out and glancing up at a darkened corner of the theatre, “He didn’t pick out the flowers, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Mokuba!” Anzu gently bopped Mokuba on the shoulder—and his neck and face—with her massive bouquet, sprinkling loose petals all over him.

“In any event,” Anzu continued, “I did forgive him. And… I’m really happy for him. He seems like he’s in a much better place now.”

“He is,” Mokuba agreed. “He did his first-ever livestream during the exhibition’s opening ceremonies the other day, and it was the first time he ever showed his face on camera. He was afraid there’d be this huge backlash, but instead the chat had nothing but positive comments. It was kind of amazing.”

“I’ll bet,” Anzu said. “The Internet can be pretty vicious at times.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure having two pretty boys on a livestream doesn’t hurt. Oh wait, three? Four?” He scratched his head in mock confusion. “Hey Anzu, do you think Jounouchi counts as a pretty boy? I know Ryou-kun does; he  **still** has a fan club, only now it’s a paid membership on one of those content creator sites.”

Anzu burst out laughing and walked out of the theatre, arm-in-arm with Mokuba, smiling wider than Mokuba had seen in a long time.

* * *

**November 1**

**—Downtown Tokyo—**

Mokuba didn’t expect to be back at the Dentsu Building so soon, but Anzu told him that she’d traded showtimes with her understudy so that she could have the evening off, for once. An hour or so after the performance of  _ Millennium _ at the theatre, Anzu emerged in a flattering blush pink pantsuit, the jacket more closely resembling a cape with the way its wide sleeves fanned out over her shoulders. A pearlescent white blouse with a thin gold belt completed the look, and she'd replaced her teenage plastic bangles with elegant gold bracelets.

“Hey, I didn’t know I was supposed to dress up for this,” Mokuba joked upon Anzu’s arrival. He gave her a light hug and they set out for the restaurant where they’d agreed to meet to talk about Anzu's post- _ Millennium _ plans.

“Oh please, Mokuba, you could wear jeans and a t-shirt and no one would bat an eye at you even if you went to the fanciest restaurant in town.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Mokuba said in a sing-song, “but alas, here I am in my usual button-up shirt and slacks, unable to take you up on that bet.”

“Besides,” Anzu added, “I thought you said you wanted ramen. Or was it udon? Okonomiyaki?”

“Any and all of the above, yes, please and thanks,” Mokuba said with a laugh. “I’m just in the mood for something traditional. I’m not partial to any particular dish. I figure you might know this neighborhood a bit better than I do, since you live around here.”

“Ha! I only got here two months ago, and most of that time has been filled with either shows or interviews for my replacement,” Anzu told Mokuba. “Or working on getting that libretto of yours put together. So how’d that go, anyway? You didn’t tell me the other night after the show.”

Everyone had been so tired after the show—the Ishtars and Leonhart with a morning flight to Germany, and Anzu after her performance—that they hadn’t spent much time after the show chatting, so Mokuba hadn’t been able to tell her everything that had happened since he’d seen her last.

“It went  **great** ,” Mokuba answered. “Pegasus actually gave me  **two** paintings, along with a new Synchro Monster—have you heard of these? They’re the newest Special Summon Monster card type, and they’re all white, it’s pretty cool—for Seto. And he actually gave  **me** a card, too!”

Anzu raised her eyebrows. “You got an exclusive card from Pegasus J. Crawford?”

“Yep,” Mokuba responded, and he paused near the side of a building to take out his wallet and withdraw the card he’d delicately wedged into a credit card slot. 

“Azure-Eyes Silver Dragon,” Anzu read. “So this is what the new  _ Duel Monsters _ Synchro Monsters look like? What’s all this ‘Tuner’ stuff?”

“I’ll explain it over lunch," Mokuba said. “Come on, let’s go!” He grabbed Anzu’s hand, even though moments before, he’d claimed to not know the area at all and that she should pick where they eat. Instead, Mokuba just followed his nose.

  
A few minutes later, they found themselves seated in a small, moody restaurant tucked into an alley just beyond the local train station’s entrance. The place only had space for about ten people at a time, with a single row of wooden tables and chairs on one wall, and the preparation area lined with bar stools and a thin counter on the other.

After they’d placed their orders—a bowl of ramen for Anzu, kitsune udon and some edamame for Mokuba—they got to talking.

“So I told you I was retiring from  _ Millennium _ , right?” Anzu said with a sharp inhale.

“Yeah?” Mokuba asked, crunching on a soybean. “Why, did your plans change?”

“No, not at all,” Anzu said. “I actually announced it to the cast and crew today.”

“Whoa. How’d that go over?”

“About as well as you’d expect,” Anzu answered. “They were pretty surprised, since I only recently started the show here, but most of them knew I’ve been at this for a long time. Besides, I was taking too much on my own, anyway. Did you know that for some of the shows, I wasn’t just playing my own role, but I was also the dance captain?”

“Yikes. Yeah, that does seem it would wear you out fast.”

“Fast or slow, it’s all in how you look at it,” Anzu responded. “Point being, I think it’s time to give other young stars a chance. Besides, it’s not like I look like my 16-year-old self anymore, anyway.” 

Mokuba bit his tongue to avoid the temptation to tell Anzu she still looked as gorgeous as the day he’d met her again in New York, but she’d probably accuse him of “turning on the charm” again. She only wanted to be friends, and he had to respect that.   
  


“So,” Anzu said, folding her hands on her lap. “You are going to sell me on whatever this job you’re inventing for me is at Kaiba Corporation. Spare me no details.”

Before Mokuba could even open his mouth, a shadow fell over their small table just near the entryway. 

“It’s  **you** ,” a seething voice intoned. Anzu looked up and over her shoulder at the intruder just behind her, while Mokuba raised his gaze from Anzu’s face up to the stranger looming over her.

“Uh, can we help you?” Mokuba asked tentatively. He didn’t recognize the white, somewhat scruffy looking man before him.

“Can you  **help** me?” the man screeched. “You could have helped me by casting me in the role I deserved back in New York! You could have helped me by giving me a role in the touring cast—any of them! But NO!”

Anzu paled as she seemed to recognize the hysterical man just centimeters away from her.

“Jean-Claude Magnum?”

The has-been actor’s wild eyes turned to Anzu, and he reached out scuffed, dirty hands for her.

“Hey, hey, back off!” Mokuba shouted, rising to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the proprietor and head chef make his way to a back room, where he hoped the man was calling the police.

“You want to know why we didn’t cast you?” Mokuba snapped, trying to wedge his way out of the tight space between tables. He had to get between Anzu and Jean-Claude, or else…

“Yeah, I remember you, Jean-Claude. I was there at your audition with Anzu. You wanted to play the role of my brother. But you didn’t get it then, and you clearly don’t get it now: the part wasn’t right for you.”

“How could the role of a pompous, arrogant rich boy not be right for me?!” Jean-Claude wailed, practically tripping on a nearby chair leg.

Anzu and Mokuba exchanged a brief glance; was this guy for real?

_ Did he seriously just  _ brag _ that he’s the best person to play a part he just insulted? _ It made no sense to Mokuba, but one thing  **was** clear: Jean-Claude Magnum could not accept reality.

“How about because you didn’t have the right chemistry with the other stars? Or because you’re a bit out of range to play a 16-year old?” Anzu tapped a manicured finger to her chin, “Or maybe because your talent lies in big budget action movies and not Broadway musicals?” 

_ She sounds really calm for someone with a nasty guy literally hanging over her head _ , Mokuba thought. He’d been able to edge a bit closer to Anzu, but there was barely a hand’s width between her and Magnum. If Mokuba was going to get between them, he’d have to do it hard—and fast.

“After Battle City, no one in Hollywood would hire me!” Jean-Claude snarled at her. “I got blackballed, thanks to your friend Jounouchi!” Magnum spat the name out as if it were a foul-tasting piece of gristle that had been stuck between his teeth.

_ More like because he’s a creep, _ Mokuba remembered. He hadn’t been there for the duel where Magnum tried to kidnap Mai after she refused to marry him, but Anzu had told him all about it.

“Yeah, because you’re a  **felon** ,” Anzu whispered behind gritted teeth.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” Jean-Claude roared at her. He reached into his dingy coat picket and withdrew a switchblade, aiming for Anzu’s throat. “I’ll slice you to ribbons, you little bitc—”

Before Mokuba could so much as move a centimeter, Anzu whirled in her chair and sent a swift uppercut straight into Jean-Claude Magnum’s chin. Mokuba swore he heard the man’s teeth crunch together, and a split second later, a gold filling went flying out of his mouth. One moment after that, his head made contact with the solid wood beam framing half of the restaurant’s entryway, and he collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap. The switchblade skittered away into a corner of the restaurant.

Five heartbeats later, the restaurant fell silent once more.

“Holy shit, Anzu,” Mokuba breathed. “You’re a badass.”

Despite her heroics, Anzu kept sucking in air like each breath might be her last, and her face resembled one of Siegfried von Schroeder’s favorite pink suits.

“Here, drink some water. Come over here and sit down—” Mokuba started.

“Police, we received a call about—oh,” an officer peered in the doorway. “Chief, is this the man you called about who was assaulting a customer?” He looked down at the unconscious Jean-Claude Magnum. “Why does this guy look familiar?”

He glanced at Anzu, sipping her ice water slowly, and at Mokuba beside her, gently rubbing her back in an effort to calm her down. Mokuba just shrugged at the officer’s question. “Maybe he’s on your Most Wanted list?”

He’d meant it as a joke, but a few minutes later, the officer got off the phone with someone from his department and confirmed that indeed, Jean-Claude Magnum was a wanted felon, having committed a string of assaults and robberies recently in Tokyo, along with a number of stalking reports against him in both the United States and in England.

“Thank you for calling us about this,” the police officer said, gesturing to a fellow officer who’d arrived to help him haul Magnum into a waiting ambulance. “We’ll get him out of your way.”

“You...don’t need to ask us any questions or anything?” Mokuba asked. Part of him regretted the question as soon as it was out of his mouth, but it would linger on his mind if he didn’t ask. He’d seen too many movies where someone ended up getting spied on by the police, or murdered in an underground garage, or plastered all over the next day’s newspapers….

_ One of those things is not like the others,  _ Mokuba thought wryly.

To Mokuba’s surprise, the officer glanced up at the proprietor, a tall, muscular man with a white headscarf tied on his head. The man just crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.

“No, no need,” the officer said. “Chief here says you’re all good.”

_ ‘Chief’ didn’t say anything! _ Mokuba thought. But he was grateful nonetheless. Less work for him to do later, if he didn’t have to worry about scrubbing police logs or bribing nosy reporters. The last thing Kaiba Corporation needed was a dent in their publicity after such a successful exhibition. None of the crime beat reporters Mokuba knew seemed to care too much about the details behind a crime, only if there was a newsworthy name or number associated with it. 

Mokuba looked toward the ‘Chief,’ who simply offered Mokuba a stern nod. He then brought two bowls out to the counter and gestured at Mokuba to take them. He scrambled to his feet and lifted the two bowls—weighted heavily with extra helpings of noodles or vegetables—and placed them on the table in front of Anzu.

“Well, that was a thing that happened,” Mokuba said, letting out a long exhale. “Are you okay?”

“I— yeah.” Anzu lowered her voice. “Is it weird if I say that felt good? I’ve dealt with so many creeps in my life, but I’ve never decked anybody before.”

Mokuba let out a belly laugh. “‘Decked?’” he echoed. “That’s a good one. Hey, what do you think of ‘Get set to get decked’ as my duelist catchphrase?” Sure, he wasn’t really a duelist, and he was pretty sure catchphrases weren’t really a thing—unless you counted things like “The Heart of the Cards” or whatever—but still. 

Anzu frowned at him. “Mokuba…”

“I kid, I kid,” Mokuba said, waving his hands in front of his face. “In any case, I don’t blame you one bit!” Right on cue, his stomach burbled loudly. “Anyway, I’m hungry, so let’s dig in and  **then** we can talk shop.”

Anzu nodded in agreement and added “So long as you don’t make any more bad puns!”

Mokuba favored Anzu with a devilish smirk. “I make no promises.”

“Mokuba!”

Too late, Mokuba had shoved at least two spoonfuls worth of udon into his mouth, and he only hummed in reply. 

Behind them, the tiniest of smiles cracked the Chief’s steel façade before he turned around and headed back to the kitchen.

* * *

**November 4**

**To:** kaiba.mokuba @ kaibacorp.com

**From:** leavans.levant @ egmail.com

**Subject:** Thank you again [Re: Vacation]

**Attachments:** 5 images: beerbread.jpg, riml-castlehall.jpg, spelunk.jpg, mountaintop.jpg, chocolatetour.jpg

Mokuba-kun,

I wanted to thank you again—so much—for arranging the vacation for me and my family. Leonhart is a consummate host, and we have all enjoyed seeing real snow for the first time. It’s a bit early in the season to do much in the way of skiing, but we’ve enjoyed exploring caves, hiking, and trying German food for the first time.

The Schroeder estate here in the mountains is quite beautiful, and Isis can’t stop talking about the rose-scented bathtub in her suite. Even Rishid spent a surprising amount of time in the sauna after we got back from one of our hikes. I think maybe he missed Cairo’s heat?

I’ve attached a few pictures I insisted we take during our trip, including some “beer bread” that Leonhart and I made in one of his kitchens (he has FOUR of them! In his HOME!). You may be surprised to learn Rishid does, in fact, smile from time to time! I’ve never before been able to capture photographic evidence of this fact, but now you have it (just in case he manages to erase the copy from my phone).

Wishing you the best (and hoping we could potentially do another video together soon?),

Malik Ishtar

* * *

**December 13**

**To:** leavans.levant @ egmail.com 

**From:** kaiba.mokuba @ kaibacorp.com

**Subject:** Did it seriously snow in Cairo?!

Malik-kun,

I just saw on the news that there was a freak snowstorm in Cairo! Was that for real, or did I get taken for a sucker by one of those shows that makes deepfake videos?

If it was real, please tell me you and the family made snowmen. Or snow angels. Or snow Duel Monsters. Or snow mummies. Send me pics!!!

Chat soon,

Mokuba

\--

**To:** leavans.levant @ egmail.com 

**From:** kaiba.mokuba @ kaibacorp.com

**Subject:** Re: Did it seriously snow in Cairo?!

**Attachments:** 3 images, 1 movie: snow-dragon.jpg, snow-kuriboh.jpg, snow-ra.m4v, viewtube-award.jpg

Mokuba-kun,

Yes, it is actually snowing right now here in Cairo! It’s unbelievable, truly. I can’t believe this has happened in my lifetime; the news is saying the last time it snowed here was 112 years ago!

There wasn’t enough to make any sculptures like what we saw in ads while we were in Germany, but I’ve attached a few pictures of some of the things we  **did** manage to make. I managed to put together a somewhat recognizable Kuriboh—though the light’s not great enough to be able to see its eyes, I’ll admit—and that got the attention of some kids in my neighborhood.

We worked with Rishid to put together a snow “dragon,” but I’ll leave it up to you to decide which  _ Duel Monsters _ dragon (if any) it resembles.

Rishid claimed he made a snow Ra, and I went to go look, and he lobbed me with a snowball! He claimed it was Ra in “sphere mode,” if you can believe that. Isis managed to capture that on video, but I hope you won’t post it online or anything!

Though...I might do it myself anyway. I don’t know if you heard, but I just got the ViewTube Gold Award for hitting one million subscribers. 1,000,000! I might still be in shock. The livestream really helped boost subscriptions, and now I have all kinds of companies calling or emailing me and wanting to arrange sponsorships or book deals or other things that sound far too good to be true.

I’m hoping we can chat next week and maybe you can help guide me into figuring out which of these offers is ‘the real deal,’ so to speak. Since I know you’ve got more experience in the traditional entertainment realm than I do, I hope you don't mind that I consider you a trusted resource on this matter. 

Looking forward to speaking soon,

Malik Ishtar

* * *

**December 24**

Just after 5:30 on Christmas Eve, Mokuba received a video in his messaging app from none other than Ryuuji Otogi. There was no comment to indicate what the video was about, so Mokuba hesitantly pressed on the play button.

A somewhat shaky camera panned upward, looking down at a table with a familiar pair seated at it: Hiroto Honda with his gravity-defying hair, and Shizuka Kawai, recognizable if only for her flame-colored hair, though she’d arranged in an elegant updo rather than letting it hang over her shoulders as she had when Mkouba saw her last.

“This guy,” a low voice murmured. After a second, Mokuba recognized the voice as Otogi’s. “I love Honda, but if he screws this up, I’m personally going to chase him down all 48 storeys of this building.”

Honda reached across the table to Shizuka, saying something far out of reach of the smartphone’s mic. Shizuka’s hands flew up to her mouth, and Honda withdrew a small box from one of his suit pockets. He slowly opened it, revealing something that twinkled brilliantly even in the faraway light.

“Good, he got a decent-sized diamond. That guy can be a cheapskate at times, but damn him if he’s not the biggest teddy bear on the planet. Seriously. I don’t know who’s luckier, Honda or Shizuka-chan,” Otogi added.

The camera flipped around to Otogi’s face and he said, “Don’t tell him I said that” before the video ended.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, he got a series of rapidfire texts from Anzu.

“Hey, sorry to bug you on Christmas Eve, but I just had to tell you: I saw Honda and Shizuka-chan tonight and OMG the ring he got her is GORGEOUS! So she said yes, if you didn’t already hear. I’m actually a little jealous to be honest.”

“Tonight was my big finale, and it went FANTASTIC. I refuse to send you any pictures or video because I’ve got mascara coming off my face and I look like a raccoon because of how much I’ve been crying, but believe me, it’s happy tears.”

“Also super shocking, but Mai-san and Jounouchi came too! I don’t know if Jounouchi purposefully got tickets so he could spy on Honda, but I wouldn’t put it past him. The cast freaked out to see so many of their real-life counterparts backstage. The actress who plays Shizuka actually started crying when she met the real-life Jounouchi, because she said he was a really big inspiration to her little brother who wants to grow up and be a Pro Duelist like him one day. Don’t tell Jounouchi, but I’m pretty sure he cried. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

“Shizuka-chan is still super, super cute. When I told her about the Olivier Awards coming up in a few months, she got all worried about whether she’s supposed to say ‘break a leg’ or not, since she’s always known me as a dancer. I told her I was going to actually start working at Kaiba Corporation and she told me to say hello, so ‘hi’ from Shizuka-chan!”

“I hope your holiday party went well and you got to do a lot of ‘schmoozing!’ I’ll see you after the New Year’s, boss!”

Mokuba leaned back in his chair and laughed. He hadn’t even had a chance to type so much as a single emoji before Anzu sent each of those messages.

_ I’m glad she’s happy, _ Mokuba thought.  _ I just hope I can help her on this new path of hers...and maybe, just maybe, take a vacation of my own. _

_ I’ve definitely earned it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. You've made it to the end. Thank you for joining me on this mad dash into Tropelandia, with a pit stop in Easter Egg Country. The backstory behind this fic: A thread on Tumblr from kaibacorpintern inspired me (anzu-kaiba) to come up with a multichapter fic idea involving Anzu somehow working for Kaiba Corporation without Seto's knowledge. There's something of a trope in Azureshipping fics where she works for him, either as a secretary or a babysitter/tutor for Mokuba, but I liked the idea of it being for different reasons. 
> 
> When I signed up for YGOME, I got several prompts that, while they each sounded fun on their own, I had the tiniest of inklings I could fuse together into one. At first, I tried to make it into a casino-heist fic, a'la Ocean's Eleven, but that quickly went out the window. I came back to the idea from kaibacorpintern and fused it with a recent trope I'd rediscovered from an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine — the "Chain of Deals."
> 
> So I wanted to have a character who would have some reason for going around and interacting with the Yu-Gi-Oh! cast members mentioned in my prompts (the Battle City cast, and particularly the Ishtars and Anzu), making deals in order to get something they wanted or needed. But with everyone scattered to the four winds after the events of the series, who would have the time, energy, and wherewithal to do that? Enter Mokuba Kaiba.
> 
> This is my first time writing a story from his point of view, and it's quite difficult (for me) to write from both a male perspective and from an older Mokuba's perspective, but I hope I did him justice. There were only two scenes where I deviated from his perspective, but it was because I really didn't want to cut them: the scene where Honda picks up Jounouchi at the airport, and the scene shortly thereafter, where Jounouchi and Mai meet again in the limousine.
> 
> Several times throughout this story, Mokuba or Seto just took the damned proverbial steering wheel away from me, which is why we ended up with long scenes of them interacting, especially after they visit Mai at the atelier and before the exhibition.
> 
> I have never in my life completed a multi-chapter fanfic of this scope in 30 days. I didn't expect to combine NaNoWriMo with my YGOME entry, but here we are. Thank you, brightbriar, for this opportunity and the renewed belief that I can, in fact, write long (hopefully heartfelt) fics that END.
> 
> I'm sharing my first-ever NaNoWriMo completion certificate with you. Rock on. :)


End file.
